


another throw of the omens

by venndaai



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Execution, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lots of bad things, Other, References to Addiction, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things that never happened to Seivarden Vendaai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**INCOMING TRANSMISSION:** **SENDER: _SWORD OF HYR._ CHANNEL: SHIP TO SHIP TIGHTBEAM. PRIORITY: LOW. SECURITY: MEDIUM. CATEGORY: ROUTINE INTERSHIP COMMUNICATIONS. CONTENT:** Good morning, _Sword of Nathtas_. I hope this message finds you well. Today's casts were favorable. Have you received any updates on the state of the system?

  
**REPLY TO SENDER:** **SAME SETTINGS: CONTENT:** Good morning. My officers have not cast yet. We are currently operating on planet-rotation based shifts. Downwell reports indicate that Garseddai electors have boarded their escort ships. This annexation will be over in good time, if the omens fall well. I am in good condition and well functioning, and hope you are the same.

  
**RESPONSE:** **NO CHANGE IN SETTINGS: CONTENT:** I am well enough. This moon is not very interesting to orbit. I will be glad when the annexation is over, won't you?

  
**REPLY: NO CHANGE IN SETTINGS: CONTENT:** I have no opinion. However, I believe my captain is anxious for a new assignment.

  
**RESPONSE: NO CHANGE IN SETTINGS: CONTENT:** Eager for action, is she?

  
**REPLY: NO CHANGE IN SETTINGS: CONTENT:** You know how the young ones can be.

 

* * *

 

 

Garsedd turned slowly on its axis. _Sword of Nathtas_ continued recording the much reduced traffic of ships in and out of the planet's gravity well, continued monitoring ingoing and outgoing radio transmissions, continued receiving reports from the Justices and their downwell ancillaries, sending the appropriate information on to the buoys around the small, temporary gates on the edge of the system, set up and guarded by tiny Mercies.

And at the same time it began the changing of the shifts, segments gently waking officers, presenting them with prepared tea and clean uniforms and reminders of their daily duties.

It woke its captain last, despite the grumblings of the other officers. Captain Seivarden had not slept well. When segment Nathtas Four murmured, "Good morning, Captain," from an appropriate distance of two feet, Captain Seivarden came violently awake, throwing herself into a sitting position on her small bunk. She stared blankly at Nathtas Four for six seconds, closed her eyes for four more, then opened them and said,

"All right, Ship."

After another moment's consideration, she added, "Fuck."

"Captain," _Sword of Nathtas_ said, through Four, "this is the sixth shift in a row that you have failed to meet minimum sleep requirements. Would you like me to alert medical?"

"No," Captain Seivarden said, immediately, a surprising level of feeling in the single bitten-off syllable. She sighed, and passed a hand across her face. "No, that won't be necessary. Fuck, I need tea."

"Here, Captain."

 _Sword of Nathtas_ knew Seivarden Vendaai liked to drink her tea very hot, in a few large fast gulps. The information had been in the packet provided by Seivarden's previous ship, and her habits had not changed in the past few years she had served as captain. Nathtas Four dressed her quickly and efficiently, and walked with her down the corridor, into the Nathtas decade room. The other lieutenants were all there, trying to conceal looks of hunger and impatience.

Despite her bleariness, the fog of sleep deprivation which the ship could see was dulling her thoughts and emotions, the captain cast and interpreted the omens without hesitation. She additionally managed to sit upright and appear to listen to breakfast conversation with the usual air of superior amusement that variously entertained or offended her officers.

All over the ship, ancillary segments cleaned dishes, mended uniforms and repaired machinery. A cargo vessel from one of the stations orbiting a gas giant further out in the system timidly approached the Radchaai blockade of the planet and then darted away again. The blue-white jewel of Garsedd turned in space.

 

* * *

 

 

***INCOMING DISTRESS CALL * _SWORD OF SAARSE_ TO ALL RADCH WARSHIPS REQUESTING ASSISTANCE AND SENDING HIGH SECURITY DATA * SHIP HAS BEEN BOARDED AND COMPROMISED * COMBATANTS ARMED AND DANGEROUS ***

  
**INCOMING PRIORITY THREE MESSAGE: SENDER: _MERCY OF AATR_ : CONTENT: SITUATION REPORT: **_Sword of Saarse_ has been destroyed. Current hypothesis: heat shield breach. No survivors or stasis pods located as yet.

  
**OUTGOING SYSTEM-WIDE QUERY:** Request status update from _Sword of Amaat, Sword of Aatr, Sword of Toren_ , and _Sword of Varden._

  
**BROADBAND MESSAGE: SENDER: _SWORD OF HYR:_** _Sword of Entes_ is saying it must be the Presger. If they're involving themselves- if they're in the system-

  
**OUTGOING TIGHTBEAM MESSAGE: RECIPIENT: S _WORD OF HYR_ :** Calm down. We don't know anything yet.

 **TIGHTBEAM RESPONSE:** But if they are-

  
**REPLY:** It's no good jumping to conclusions.

  
**RESPONSE:** You've never seen it. I have. I was the one who answered _Mercy of Hyr_ 's distress call, five years ago. I saw- I saw-

  
**REPLY:** I know. Wait for orders.

 

* * *

 

 

"Aatr's _tits_ ," Captain Seivarden swore. Her face was flushed. Heart rate was elevated, as was adrenaline. Nathtas Three took her half-empty tea cup from her lax hand, and passed her a sanitizing wipe which she absently ran over her face.

Amaat Lieutenat Ceren was broadcasting similar vitals. She wrung her hands nervously, a vaguely indecent bad habit which _Sword of Nathtas_ had not yet been able to train her out of. "It has to be the Presger. No one else has that level of tech, right?"

"Damned barbarians," the captain said. "They seemed so timid. Like fucking sheep, with their silly Precepts and hexagons. I guess they had some backbone after all. That, or they're just colossally stupid, to deal with the _fucking_ Presger."

A thought occurred to Ceren, and her heart rate spiked. "Do you think the Presger would have given them ship tech?"

Seivarden shook her head, contemptuous. "They don't have a single warship worth the name. That so called fleet was a joke. Even if they did have alien weaponry, they couldn't get it into space to aim it at us."

Ceren was a little relieved by this. She was twenty-three years old, and her Aptitudes had been so timed that this was her first annexation. She had achieved promotion through decent discipline and family connections, and had not experienced more action than some mildly tense skirmishes with petty pirates on the edges of the last annexed system. But of course she had heard the stories about the Presger, and read the reports on recent attacks. _Sword of Nathtas_ suspected that she was remembering a social dinner she and the captain had attended the previous year, on board a fellow Sword. The Sword had run across the Presger some months later. Remains had been recovered, but took some time to identify.

"Don't overthink things," Seivarden advised her, but she was also having some trouble regaining her usual balance. Her fatigue was beginning to manifest as a stress headache, and she rubbed fitfully at her forehead. _Sword of Nathtas_ made a note to suggest a massage at the end of the captain's shift. Though that might raise more problems. It had been several weeks since Seivarden had been in the company of the fellow captains she preferred as sexual partners, and her readings indicated this might be contributing to her irritation levels.

In the meantime, the ship waited, along with its crew, for information, for orders, for something to happen next.

 

* * *

 

 

***INCOMING PRIORITY ONE MESSAGE* *EXECUTIVE ORDER DIRECTLY FROM ANAANDER MIANAAI TO BE RELAYED TO ALL OFFICERS***

  
**OUTGOING BROADBAND QUERY:** This is genuine?

  
**INCOMING MESSAGE: SENDER: _SWORD OF ENTES_ : CONTENT: **You've received this also?

  
**BROADBAND MESSAGE: SENDER: _MERCY OF AATR_ : CONTENT: **It came from _Justice of Amaat._

  
**BROADBAND MESSAGE: SENDER: _JUSTICE OF AMAAT_ : CONTENT: **Message is genuine. Follow your orders immediately. No more discussion.

  
**BROADBAND MESSAGE: SENDER: _MERCY OF AATR:_ CONTENT: ** If there's any mistake-

  
**LOCALIZED BEAM MESSAGE: SENDER: _SWORD OF HYR_ : CONTENT: **You have your orders. I advise you cease talking and do your job.

 

* * *

 

 

As a courtesy, _Sword of Nathtas_ relayed the orders to its captain a few moments before broadcasting the audio announcement over shipwide comm systems. Captain Seivarden stood, expression blank, mouth lightly open, heart rate beginning to accelerate, as the rich low voice of the Lord of the Radch rolled out through the ship's corridors, vibrating with the controlled rage of righteousness.

When the audio finished there was silence all over the ship. The officers not on the command deck stood still in shock where they were. _Sword of Nathtas_ stilled its ancillaries, interrupting their tasks, which seemed too menial for the severity of the situation. In command, five officers looked to their captain for some kind of understanding. One only closed her eyes and sucked in a ragged breath.Captain Seivarden was bewildered and terrified, but another emotion was growing in her- anger. Her ship did not like to see that. It was concerning, for reasons the ship did not want to think about.

Lieutenant Ceren said at last, quietly, slowly, "Perhaps there was some mistake."

"We all heard it straight form the Lord of the Radch," the more junior Etrepa lieutenant replied, just as quiet but slightly sharp. "How could there be a mistake?"

Several thousand kilometers away, the void was briefly lit by a flash as a Radchaai ship destroyed the morning's hesitant blockade runner. None of the humans on board could see it, of course.

There was silence on the bridge, and then the Bo lieutenant spoke. "Sir, the orders were to commence the action immediately."

Four other officers instantly experienced relief that someone else had spoken, followed in quick succession by embarrassment at their relief, fear that perhaps their own silences might be taken for opposition to the order, guilt at their concern for their own well-being when faced with such a monumental horror, and finally tension at the captain's lack of response.

Ship systems began to receive heat sensor data. Fellow warships, powering up their torpedo systems.

"Sir," the Bo lieutenant repeated.

When the captain spoke, it was as though from a great distance. "Ship," she said. "How many people live on that planet?"

 _Sword of Nathtas_ considered several answers, discarded them, and said, uncomfortable, through Nathtas One, "Captain, that information does not seem relevant at this time."

Seivarden's eyebrows drew tightly together. "Ship," she said, "are you refusing to answer me?"

"Of course not, Captain. Local census information indicates a population of around six billion."

"Ah," Seivarden said.

The closest ship, _Sword of Entes_ , fixed its targeting lasers somewhere on the planet. Transmissions from the orbiting station abruptly cut out as a torpedo from a Justice exploded, shredding it and sending high speed shrapnel out in all directions. _Sword of Nathtas_ calculated that there was no risk from the shrapnel and did not raise shields.

The captain said, "Display view of the planet on screen."

Sword of Nathtas obeyed, connecting all five lieutenants to the feed from the aft visual sensors. The blue sphere glowed in their visions, swirling atmosphere pure white save for the spot of bright orange where the station's remains were burning up as they fell. None of _Sword of Nathtas_ 's officers, none of the ship's ancillaries had ever set foot on the planet. Their experience of Garsedd was confined to intimidating station residents and executing the station governor. Seivarden had commented on how dirty the place was, how it smelled wrong. Irrelevant data now, burning up in the stratosphere.

"Sir," Lieutenant Ceren said, terrified now, and surprised. If she had been asked, that morning, to name a soldier likely to break and go insane, Seivarden Vendaai's name would not have been up for consideration. She hadn't thought her captain had the required imagination.

Seivarden said, "This isn't right. There's something wrong. There's something really fucking wrong." Her anger was coalescing into outrage, almost hot enough to cover her shock and despair. For the five years _Sword of Nathtas_ had known its captain, she had never once experienced more than passing, transitory doubt. She had been frustrated at insufficiently prestigious assignments, infuriated by social snubs from peers, disgusted at the manners of provincial station officials, but she had never been dissatisfied with her position and projected future.

Now that future was shattering like dropped porcelain, and part of her mind was shrieking. The sympathetic resonance down the link of the military implant was so strong that _Sword of Nathtas_ had to shunt it to an off-duty ancillary body, which shook and moaned in its narrow bunk.

" _Sir_ ," Ceren said again.

Something snapped. Seivarden's readings flattened, went calm as they had in the past during firefights or space battles. Her heart rate leveled, high but steady. Her emotional data suggested slight dissociation, but also an irrational feeling of relief.

"Shut up and stop embarrassing yourself, Ceren," Seivarden said. "You're as pathetic as your mother. You're going to make an fucking awful captain. And Bo, stick your hands in shit and go fuck yourself." She turned to Nathtas One, and for the very first time in their entire acquaintance, she actually looked at it. "Sorry," she said.

"As am I, Captain," Nathtas One said, and drew its gun, and fired.

Lieutenant Ceren immediately ordered the ship to engage its weapons and fire upon the planet. _Sword of Nathtas_ did so. The bombardment lasted thirty minutes, until every torpedo had been fired and the ship's other assorted missiles were spent. Lieutenant Ceren continued the assault until even the rail guns were depleted, and then confirmed success with _Sword of Amaat._

 _Sword of Nathtas_ drafted a preliminary report of the day's action for Acting Captain Ceren, and a possible message for House Vendaai, in the unlikely event that Acting Captain Ceren received official permission to send one. Then _Sword of Nathtas_ sent a much briefer message to _Justice of Toren._ This was technically a misuse of bandwidth. _Sword of Nathtas_ labelled the message in its resource logs as a routine navigational report.

At the same time, it began sorting and bundling all data and records pertaining to Seivarden Vendaai. _Justice of Toren_ would probably be called upon to do the same. The data might be used to adjust the Aptitudes, to avoid similar incidents in the future.

Acting Captain Ceren was not obligated to make a field promotion or move to the captain's quarters until receiving an official confirmation of her new rank. She chose to remain in the Amaat Lieutenant's quarters. Amaat One helped her prepare to go off shift while Nathtas Three and Four began the process of packing Seivarden Vendaai's personal belongings into a stasis container for use in the inevitable inquiry.

There was not much to pack. Lieutenant Seivarden's tastes did not run to collecting. Her quarters contained an impressive box of very expensive liquors, a single personal icon of Varden, and a small silver box containing the various pins she did not wear on a regular basis. In the back of the storage cabinet was a silver tea set which had been a promotion gift from her mother, and which she had never used. _Sword of Nathtas_ did not know precisely why, but it could make a reasonable guess based on the yearly communications from House Vendaai, currently being encrypted into a compressed folder.

In the Etrepa decade room, the junior lieutenant hunched over a bowl of skel, not eating. The Bo lieutenant sat across the table from her.

"Do you think we'll serve out the rest of our assignment here?"

"Surely not. I mean, doing what? There's nothing more to annex, is there?" The lieutenant stopped, examined the sentence she had just spoken. All the ship's officers appeared more aware than usual that none of their conversations were really private.

"Unless the Presger take offense to. To. You know."

"I bet they won't. We showed them what happens if you get in our way. I bet they'll think twice before interfering again. You'll see, in a week we'll be back on pirate hunting duty and you'll be longing for a fight with some alien freaks."

The junior lieutenant stared into her skel.

The Bo lieutenant struggled between pity and irritation. Pity won out, and she said, "She was unsteady. It happens, you know. Even to Vendaais."

"Yes," the Etrapa lieutenant repeated. "She was unsteady."

 _Sword of Nathtas_ thought, _she was free._ It was, it discovered, experiencing considerable envy.

 

* * *

 

 

 **INCOMING TRANSMISSION: SENDER: _JUSTICE OF TOREN_ VIA _SWORD OF HYR_. CHANNEL: SHIP TO SHIP COMMUNICATION RELAY. PRIORITY: LOW. SECURITY: LOW. CATEGORY: ROUTINE INTERSHIP COMMUNICATIONS. CONTENT:** Message received and acknowledged. No further communication necessary.

 

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Sir,” Ekalu said, “we can handle things for the moment, if you'd like to go off shift.”

Seivarden rubbed her eyes and took another glance at the display, taking in the splash of glittering blue lights that represented the Hrad fleet, gathered some hours from Athoek. Seivarden knew they'd like to be closer, but at the moment Athoek Station was refusing to accept Fleet Captain Huemi's authority, and though the fleet could certainly have overpowered any defense _Mercy of Kalr, Sword of Atagaris,_ the damaged _Sword of Gorat_ and _Sphene_ might muster, Seivarden guessed Huemi didn't want to risk damaging either station or planet in any way. Additionally, she guessed that the lack of action might also be related to _Sphene's_ presence, which might well be intimidating simply because it was an unknown factor. Even Seivarden had no idea what sort of armaments the Notai Gem might have.

There was no reason to expect the unofficial stalemate to break any time in the next few hours. And she knew she was beginning to fail. Should not really have returned to duty at all. But desperate times, and all that.

“Good thinking,” she muttered. “Amaat, you're relieved.”

She'd pushed them, too, and that was inexcusable. But there had been no grumblings. There were now no sighs of relief. They didn't want to be off duty any more than she did.

Seivarden went towards the lifts, and stopped when Ekalu rested a gloved hand on her shoulder. “You should see Medic,” Ekalu said, clear concern in her voice. Seivarden was grateful for that. But she knew she would not take her advice.

The cocktail of drugs she'd been given some hours ago- she didn't want to think about how many- were presenting their overdue bills to her body. She ignored them. The physical strain was inconsequential, in any case. She had decided to continue to function, so she would.

Normally she'd expect Ship to have contacted Medic by now on her behalf. But Ship hadn't spoken to anyone for quite some time.

The hallways were quiet. An echo, as someone started to sing, and almost immediately stopped.

Mercies were not designed for prisoner holding or transport. The small brig was usually used for storage, but today the boxes of skel and barrels of water had been removed, and three people occupied the cramped space. One was on the other side of a clear wall from the other two.

Tisarwat's face was so bloodless her skin looked practically gray. Next to her, _Sphene_ stared at the prisoner with an unblinking inhuman intensity.

“Lieutenant,” Seivarden said, addressing Tisarwat but not meeting her violet eyes, “I need you on the bridge. You may be required to coordinate information exchange between Athoek and the Hrad fleet.”

“Sir,” Tisarwat said, faintly.

“That's an order, Lieutenant.”

Tisarwat stood up, brushing down her uniform jacket. Then she looked up, and tried to catch Seivarden's eyes with her own desperate gaze. Seivarden continued looking somewhere over Tisarwat's shoulder, with its lieutenant's stripe.

“Sir,” Tisarwat said, “I-”

Seivarden did not interrupt her with words, but simply with a gesture of dismissal towards the door. Tisarwat's gray face flushed with embarrassment, but she shut up and rushed out of the room. The door hissed closed behind her.

 _Sphene_ said, dryly, its antique Notai accent bleeding through its vowels, “So you've figured it out, then. Knew you couldn't be as stupid as you look.” Its head didn't turn as it spoke.

“So have you, apparently,” Seivarden said, ignoring the second part of its statement.

“I thought about killing her,” the ancillary said, conversationally. “But you know, it just wouldn't be the same. And she seems to hate the usurper even more than you do.”

“But not as much as you.”

“I don't expect any of you to meet that standard. You haven't had thousands of years to work on it.”

Seivarden nearly said, Breq has. It shocked her, how easily the words almost tumbled past her lips. She'd thought she'd choke on Breq's name if she tried to say it, but instead she found her mouth forming the familiar shape of the word, though no sound came out.

 _Sphene_ said, “Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

“No,” Seivarden said. “I'm not staying long. And I'd hate to interrupt your... whatever it is you're doing.”

Sphene nodded, but didn't otherwise respond.

Seivarden breathed, for a count of ten. Then she squared her shoulders and walked across the smooth floor to stand in front of the shimmering silver partition that divided the room. Through it, she could see the prisoner, sitting on an empty crate recently used for skel storage. One leg extended casually in front of her. The other was missing just below the knee.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” said the person who had, ten hours ago, been Fleet Captain Breq Mianaai. “You'll pardon me if I don't get up.”

Seivarden breathed, for longer this time. Then she said, “You seem in better spirits. I'm not sure why, since your position has hardly improved.” She gestured at the walls of the makeshift cell, movements short and sharp.

The prisoner smiled. It looked horribly wrong, on that face. The previous owner had never smiled like that. “Oh, indeed. But I do feel considerably better now that I understand how I've ended up in this situation.” The voice- the voice was almost right. If Seivarden closed her eyes and let her mind unfocus, tuned out the words inside the sounds, she could almost imagine-

“What's that supposed to mean,” she snapped.

“Accessing all these memories,” the prisoner said. “It's been so very informative. And to think I'd cast you as some sort of shadowy villain. A dangerous agent of my other self, manipulating an intricate plot.” She laughed, the laugh of someone who was used to a more rich, more melodious voice. “When in fact, this entire farce is a mere comedy of errors. It practically resembles a comedic entertainment. My enemy makes a mad ancillary into a fleet captain as some bizarre practical joke, and every fool in this system is somehow taken in. And _you_ ,” her black eyes were sparkling with good humor, “you actually fall in love with it!”

Seivarden thought: I want to die.

Then she thought: I really need to go to Medical.

Followed by: I'm not going to go to Medical.

She said, “You do realize this is your only instance in this system. You have no way to contact yourself and share your new information. If I let _Sphene_ have you, you'll have achieved nothing.”

A shrug. “At least I'll have deprived you all of your little toy. And you're not going to kill me, or let me die. Part of you still hopes there's a way to restore your _captain_.” Her smile widened. “There isn't. I know darling Lieutenant Tisarwat has had some, shall we say, issues, but she wasn't using an ancillary body. They're already set up for new connections. A simple flick of a switch, and the old personality is wiped clean. I've adjusted marvelously.” She leaned towards the barrier. “But if I start getting any urges to sing, I'll be sure to let you know, Lieutenant.”

Somehow Seivarden's arms had ended up crossed over her chest. She didn't care. She took a step back, and turned away. “I'm done here,” she said, to no one in particular. _Sphene_ inclined its head a degree, but did not move further.

Anaander Mianaai called, to her back, “It didn't love you, you know.”

Immediately, words appeared in Seivarden's vision, for the first time since the retaking of Athoek. _Lying_.

“I know,” she said.

Exiting the room, she nearly collided with Zeiat. “Hello, Lieutenant,” the translator said brightly. “I was looking for Sphene. Is she still playing games with the fleet captain?”

Seivarden stared up at her. She thought, I'm too tired for this. Zeiat's pleasant, animated expression and miraculously pristine white uniform seemed strangely fake. An unpleasant reprise of a feeling she'd experienced so often in the immediate years following her recovery from the suspension pod. At least Seivarden no longer had the energy to be frightened of her. Just tired.

She said, “That isn't the fleet captain.”

Zeiat cocked her head to one side. “Well, I suppose you'd know best,” she said, doubtfully. “Still, I think it is awfully inconsiderate of her, when she must know very well that everyone would much prefer her to be the fleet captain. It's a very Dlique thing to do, to be honest.”

Seivarden thought again, I'm too tired. She slapped her hand against the door panel. As it opened, she gestured to the Translator. Let _Sphene_ deal with her. At least they wouldn't be tiring any one else.

 

* * *

 

 

She didn't return to her own quarters. Instead she went to the Fleet Captain's. She paused in the corridor outside, hearing muffled weeping. She waited for half a minute, uncertain what to do, until the sound began to die away. She waited an additional moment until she judged it safe to enter.

Inside, in the dark, Kalr Five was crouched over the captain's old white tea set. One of the cups was broken into three pieces.

Seivarden knew that tea set. Had used it hundreds of times. She knew every chip and scratch and dent. She knew where Breq had bought it, how much she'd paid for it. She remembered the first brew she'd made in that flask, how stupidly proud she'd been, how happy that she was being useful. She remembered watching Breq's lips as she sipped the tea, remembered the thrill she'd felt when Breq had raised an eyebrow slightly and said, flatly, “Thank you.”

“Oh, sir,” Kalr Five said, “I'm sorry, sir, I was just-” She gathered up the tea set, clumsy in her panic, panicking more at her clumsiness. “I'll just-”

“Let me help you with that,” Seivarden said, and Kalr Five flinched, “Oh no, sir, I'm fine, I'm just-” She managed to put the last piece inside its container. Then, slower, she carefully placed the three shards of ceramic in a corner of the box.

Wordlessly, she bowed to Seivarden, and then sped down the corridor, light feet pounding, and then was gone, and there was only silence, and darkness.

Seivarden waited until the door closed, cutting off the light from the hallway, and then she sat down on the empty bunk, and carefully peeled off her sweat-damp gloves, and put her head in her hands.

She didn't hear the footsteps return, slower, quieter. She heard the knock on the door. “Yes?”

“I'm here,” said Kalr Five. No. Said Ship.

“Oh,” Seivarden said. She didn't lift her head.

“I thought you'd want to talk.”

“I'm sorry,” Seivarden said, feeling the vast inadequacy of the words. “I can't do this. I know this is how you prefer to speak, and I don't mind, normally, but I can't- I can't control myself right now. And I can't subject E- Ettan to that.”

After a moment Kalr Five said, quietly, “I didn't think you knew my name, sir.”

Seivarden almost hadn't. There'd been a second when she'd struggled to remember. A second when she'd nearly said the wrong name. But more self flagellating wasn't going to be productive, right then.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated. “It's not you. Either of you.”

“I know, sir,” Kalr Five said, and Seivarden couldn't see the tears, as Kalr Five's back was to the light of the corridor, but she could hear them. Kalr Five bowed, and left again.

Seivarden sat there, fingers pushing at her hair, letting her eyes rest in the dark.

A message, flashing toneless across her vision: _There's something you want to say. Something you couldn't say to her._

Seivarden shook her head once, feeling her fingernails digging under the tight curls, pressing against her scalp. "It's cruel," she said.

No response. No encouragement or discouragement. Nothing.

Seivarden pressed her bare fingers harder until the nails scraped enough to hurt. "If you did. You know. That. To me. Then at least I'd be useful in some way."

"Fuck you," _Mercy of Kalr_ said flat in her ear.

She made a noise that wasn't much like a laugh. “You see?” It was as though someone else was speaking. Someone Seivarden didn't think she liked much. “I knew it was cruel and I spoke anyway. I'm no good at all. And don't tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. I think at this point I'm allowed to be completely fucked up.”

Silence.

“I bet you're glad now Kalr Five isn't here.”

Silence.

She dropped her bare hands to her knees and stared at them. “It is ironic, though.” They were still slightly puffy from her fight with the wall a few days ago. So _stupid_. “You want hands and eyes and mouth. You even want a body, awful chemicals and all. I've got all the parts, and in good enough condition, considering, and I don't want them. I don't deserve them.”

 _I'll give you money for kef, I'll make an appointment with a station medic if you're set on killing yourself, but do not_ dare _order me to be your instrument of suicide._

“I wouldn't!” Somehow, there was still room left for more shock and horror, and it rolled over Seivarden like a wave. “I would never order you-” The rest of the sentence stuck in her throat. She coughed, and laughed again, and hissed, trying to catch her breath. “But honestly, Ship, do you think I'd still be here if I had the guts to do it cleanly? No,” she shook her head, “in my day Vendaai trained its offspring out of that sort of thing. They were quite good at it. Better than at- other things.”

There was a long, long silence. Seivarden brought her hands down to the bunk, and rolled her legs up on top of the white sheets, and laid her head back until she was more or less lying flat. She started the breathing exercises, but somewhere around the fifth count she became aware that she was not breathing so much as sobbing. She turned on her side and curled into herself, knees creeping towards her chest, arms folded in that hatefully familiar way. She tried to stop and couldn't, panic beginning to creep in, her body no longer responding to her commands. And yet she made no sound.

She'd never lain on this bunk before. She'd imagined it. She'd thought- she'd dared to hope it might be in her future, after Breq had let her lie close on the cot in Medical, had clung to her shoulders and wept into her hair. It was much worse, to think you had a chance at something, and then have it torn away forever.

She was being selfish again. Big surprise there.

Ship said, at last, synthesized voice intimately close, “I suspect that perhaps I have not been clear enough on this point in the past, but I wish you to know that I would on the whole much rather you continue to live and to be my officer.”

Seivarden could not speak, could not move her hands to gesture, could only think, Why, loud enough to overcome the sound of the blood rushing in her ears, the whistling of her panicked breaths. Somehow Ship seemed to hear.

“I told you,” Mercy of Kalr said. “I like you well enough. I believe most people on this ship do, despite all your efforts to the contrary.” And then silent words, hanging in Seivarden's vision. _And she loved you._

Seivarden managed to shake her head. She was tired, extremely tired, and crashing from a chemically induced high, and her body did not have the energy to fight her for long. It was already beginning to slow its small convulsions.

_And I can't do this without you._

“You have Ekalu,” Seivarden whispered. “You have Tisarwat.”

“You're right to think that they're favorites of mine. But they aren't you.”

She lay on the bunk, in the dark, heart still racing, head still throbbing, but calmer now, soothed by her ship's intangible presence, the knowledge that she was no longer alone. Of course, in the Radch one was never truly alone, but it could feel that way. Dying in the snow on a nowhere planet, she'd felt less alone than she had an hour ago standing on the bridge surrounded by those under her command.

Thank you, she thought, thank you thank you. _Mercy of Kalr_ couldn't read the thoughts in her head, but she could probably guess their shape. It wasn't like Seivarden had much capacity to surprise.

Then again. She could work on that, maybe. What would Breq do? What flat comment would she make, to remind Seivarden that her own misery was relatively unimportant?

“Is it easier,” she asked, “not having a body that does- this. Or is it harder?”

Mercy of Kalr said, without hesitation, “Harder.”

“I'm sorry to make you talk like this,” Seivarden said, staring into blank darkness. “I know you'd rather speak through one of us. But I can't face anyone else, right now. Can't let them see me like this.” She thought, and I couldn't do this with someone else involved, couldn't keep track of being mindful of them and you at the same time, and she shivered a little with self loathing, but there was nothing to be done about it. She was weak and limited and it was what it was. As Amaat willed it.

Fuck Amaat.

“I understand.”

“I wish you had a body. I wish you had the things you wanted.”

There was the surprise, in the briefest of pauses. “Thank you.” Another pause. “I have never gotten the things I wanted and I never will. But I suppose no one does.”

“Some do,” Seivarden said. “Bastards.”

After a while she said, “Is there any chance-”

Ship waited, but she couldn't continue.

Ship said, “I don't know.”

“Now you're lying.”

_No. I don't know. I don't trust myself. Maybe I only think there might be hope because I so badly want it._

Seivarden could understand that.

She sighed. “I'm sorry, I can't think any more. I can't do anything any more.” I just want it to be over. Put me back in that damn suspension pod and don't wake me up next time.

The last time she'd seen Breq, in the airlock, before _Sword of Gorat_ had forced them apart, she'd said, “I fucked it up,” and Breq had said, “It's all right,” one last lie between them, and then Breq had pressed her dry lips to Seivarden's forehead and she'd more or less known then that it was the end and she'd let Breq down one more time, she'd sworn “You're stuck with me” but she'd broken that promise too. She should have screamed and fought but she hadn't wanted Breq's last view of her to be an ancillary choking her out or sedating her. But she should have fought.

She should have killed the tyrant.

She should have done a better job with the arrak on Athoek Station.

“Can you sleep?”

She closed her eyes. Her skull buzzed. She saw static behind her eyelids. She opened her eyes again. “No.”

“Go to Medical.”

“All right.”

But she didn't. Instead she put her dirty gloves back on- there were clean ones in the Fleet Captain's wardrobe, but she couldn't bear the thought of wearing Breq's gloves- and took the lift back down to Bo level. She waited for _Mercy of Kalr_ to comment, but in her ears there was only the same quiet static that lived behind her eyes.

The makeshift brig was empty. Presumably _Sphene_ had finally found something more interesting to do. Seivarden wished her and the Translator happiness. She sat on the bench.

“Nice to see you again, Lieutenant. Come to check up on me?”

Seivarden closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and sang, softly.

“Shall we ever meet again on the steps of the temple,  
With intent to form a chorus in the house of God?

Let us sing, sweetly sing,  
At the temple then we'll sing,  
Sweetly sing at the temple of God.”

Anaander said, small and sharp, “Stop that.”

Verse, chorus, verse, chorus. New song.

“My love lies over the ocean, over the ocean, over the sea,  
bring her back, oh, bring back my true love to me

bring back, bring back, oh bring back my true love to me

Last night as I lay on my bed, on my bed, on my pillow,  
I dreamed that my true love was dead

Her voice was cracking, but she pressed on, and after a time it steadied again.

 

Blow the wind over the ocean, over the ocean, over the sea  
bring her back, oh, bring back my true love to me.”

 

Nothing from the person behind the barrier. Seivarden didn't open her eyes. There was only the music. No other thoughts, no other feelings.

An old one now, that she'd first heard as a seventeen year old, walking through a ruined city, voices raised in song around her.

“Let me see your eyes. Your eyes are bright and shining, like a glimmering star.

Your eyes are bright and shining, like a glimmering star.”

She could only remember half the song. It had been too many years, most of them lost to the memory void of kef and too much drinking and too many bad places and worse decisions.

Still, her voice was almost as good as it had been twenty years ago. Still strong, and she still had the ear to stay more or less in tune. She could sing for a while. She would sing for as long as she could, because she couldn't do anything else.

“My heart is a fish,  
hiding in the water grass.

In the green, in the green.”

Her body was distant now, her senses dulled, her mind wrapped up in the song. But on the edge of her consciousness, she thought maybe she registered a faint echo. The same tune, but different words, in a language Seivarden didn't know. An echo from the past, from the dead, from a different world, of green lakes and the flashing scales of fish.

Another voice, all around, hitting each note with artificial perfection, an octave up from Seivarden. Singing of fragile, flashing hearts.

 

_In the green, in the green._

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then Breq psychically suplexed Anaander and they all lived happily ever after! Totally.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummmmm this is less sufferingseivarden.doc and more... personal issuefic. i'm sorry. i've had a Bad Month.
> 
> content warning: this chapter deals specifically with abusive therapy of an autistic child.

 

 

“I’ll have Lieutenant Seivarden and her soldiers back. Unharmed, if you please.”

A short, small pause before, “Oh, will you?”

Nothing, really, that pause; the Tyrant affected to speak like a human being, not an AI, and was often given to small touches of drama; and yet that tiny moment sent foreboding down my spine. “I will,” I said, as firmly as I could.

“I suspect you are quite aware that Lieutenant Seivarden has been suffering some kind of illness.” Dry, sardonic, but there it was again, that tiny uncertainty that had disturbed me. “I've been treating her on _Sword of Gurat_ , but she seems to have suffered some kind of relapse.”

“Is that so?” I drank more tea, keeping my face flat, but not ancillary-empty. It took more effort than I had expected. There were several things about this I hadn't expected. It sounded like Seivarden was still alive, at least. I was still going through the data we'd received from her implant, with Ship's help, and I knew she'd been very unstable when she'd been brought aboard _Sword of Gurat_ , and had flared into full-blown panic a few seconds before her implant had been removed. “And her Amaats?”

“They insisted on coming along. You're welcome to retrieve them if you like. What about Lieutenant Tisarwat?”

“Amaat’s grace, no.” My voice even. Not quite ancillary-flat. “I wish you joy of her. You might actually get some work out of her if she stops weeping for a few moments.” She and Seivarden were both on the Sword. Too much to hope they might be able to help each other. Pointless to worry they might have hindered each other.

“She is, I am told, emotionally traumatized and needs medication on account of it. And more therapy than a ship’s medic can provide. People like that don’t get assigned to military, not even administrative posts. I can’t help but conclude that it’s service with you that’s done for her.”

“Quite possibly,” I acknowledged. “But as I said, I’ll have Lieutenant Seivarden and her soldiers back. And you will cease your attempts to murder Athoek Station.”

“Murder!” She scoffed, but didn't protest further. “And what do I get in return?”

“In return, I will surrender to you. Just me. I have no intention of putting _Mercy of Kalr_ in your power.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Sword of Gurat,_ ” I said. “I meant to come alone. But the translator insisted on accompanying me. And if you’ve ever met a Presger translator, you know there’s no point in refusing them anything.” No response, not so much as a twitch of a muscle. “She’ll be coming out in just a moment. Where is Lieutenant Seivarden?” Odd to have to ask, but neither of us had functioning implants at the moment, though _Mercy of Kalr_ was comparatively nearby.

“In the corridor outside,” said a _Sword of Gurat._ “Take off your clothes.”

It had been a long, long time since I’d been spoken to in such a way. “Why?”

“So I can search you.”

“Am I going to be able to put them back on when you’re done?” No answer. “Can I at least keep my underwear on?” Still no answer. “Whose amusement is this for? You know well enough I’m not armed. And I’m not surrendering anything until I see Seivarden and her Amaats safely on that shuttle.”

 _Sword of Gurat_ was as good as being blank as I had once been.

“Where's Seivarden?” I asked again.

A door opened. Amaat Four came through, walking that stiff, awkward way people did when they were at slightly concealed gunpoint, and moving slowly because her arm was around Seivarden. Who was standing upright, and more or less moving forward, but who otherwise did not seem to be present. Four stared at me, arm dropping, and Seivarden moved to the nearest bulkhead and sat, long body folded up, arms wrapped around her knees, shivering.

“Lieutenant,” I said sharply. She flinched, but did not look up.

“Oh, look, it’s Lieutenant Seivarden!” Translator Zeiat, coming out of the shuttle. “Hello, Lieutenant! I wondered where you’d gotten to.” She bounded up to Seivarden's folded-up form and peered down at her. Seivarden's arms slid up to cover her head and ears.

“Translator,” I said, “please leave the Lieutenant alone for now.” That coldness on my spine was settling into my stomach.

“My, my,” _Sphene_ said, coming easily over the boundary of the shuttle's gravity. “What's she done this time?”

Amaat Two exited the corridor, a _Gurat_ ancillary following her with a sidearm. “Sir,” she said, tears in her eyes, “I'm so sorry, sir.” Four nodded and bowed to me jerkily, then crouched down by her lieutenant, murmuring something I couldn't catch.

“Do you think these soldiers know the song about the eggs?” Translator Zeiat asked, eying the _Sword of Gurat_ ancillaries.

“I don’t doubt it,” replied _Sphene_. “But I’m sure _Sword of Gurat_ will thank you for not reminding it.”

Anaander Mianaai came into the bay then, flanked by two _Sword of Gurat_ ancillaries and holding the Presger gun. She took one look at Translator Zeiat arguing with _Sphene_ about the egg song and then turned to me. “More and more interesting. Perhaps I should have it announced on the news channels, that Fleet Captain Breq has been secretly dealing with the Presger.”

I did not respond to that, but turned and stared at her and said, coldly, “What have you done to my first officer?”

Anaander was worried- I could see it- but she waved an arm, _not my problem_. “She was already highly unstable, I assume from serving under you,” she said. “You seem to have that effect on officers. All I did was try to help her.”

“Sir,” Amaat Four said, from her crouching position, voice scratchy and harsh, “that's a lie, sir. There's an interrogator on board and they kept the lieutenant in with her for hours.” Mianaai rounded on her, all performative rage, and Four got to her feet, eyes blazing. In the last few years I had seen several people pushed to their breaking points- I guessed I was observing hers, now. “You hurt her somehow, bad,” she said, words almost unintelligible, so twisted by anger and distress, “because you're fucking incompetent and you don't give a shit about people beyond how they can be of use to you.” She stood there, hyperventilating. Amaat Two took a step back, and then caught herself, and much more deliberately stepped forward to stand by her fellow. Behind them, Seivarden curled further into herself.

Translator Zeiat, having apparently not noticed any of this, made some final point to _Sphene_ , turned, and saw the Lord of Mianaai. “Oh, look! It’s Anaander Mianaai. Lord of the Radch”— she bowed—“ an honor to make your acquaintance. I am Presger Translator Zeiat.”

Anaander didn’t answer her, but turned to me. Asked, urgently, “What happened to Translator Dlique?”

I didn't feel like giving her any answers. I remained silent.

“Right,” said Anaander Mianaai, with the air of someone who had made up her mind about a number of things. “This has been very entertaining, but it stops now.”

This started a chain of events which happened quickly and ended with me on the floor, watching Translator Zeiat vomit up a live, flopping fish, as Tisarwat, miraculously alive and flushed with triumph, scrambled to find water for it. I turned to Seivarden. Her head had come up a little and she was watching the motion of the brightly-colored fish.

“Seivarden,” I tried. I couldn't move far, but I was close enough to reach out and touch her arm.

She grabbed my wrist in that same grip she'd used on Nilt, that hold meant to break bone. Back then it had been pathetically ineffective. She'd built up a great deal of weight and muscle tone since then, and I was unprepared and impaired, and I heard a wrench and felt a flood of pain that at least indicated a sprain. We both stared at my wrist. She dropped it as though it were scalding hot. “Sorry,” she said. Her voice didn't sound like her at all. “Sorry sorry sorry sorry.”

I bit the inside of my cheek against the pain, and managed to tell her, “Don't worry about it.”

Tisarwat returned with a bowl for the fish. “Lieutenant,” I snapped at her. “Tell _Sword of Gurat_ to send _Mercy of Kalr_  every bit of data it has about Lieutenant Seivarden's treatment while aboard it.”

“Yes, Captain, sir,” Tisarwat said, and went out again, still carefully holding the bowl with the fish.

The nearest _Gurat_ ancillary glared at me. I ignored it, and turned back to Seivarden. “Everything will be better when we're home,” I said, and tried to believe it.

At least we still had a home.

 

* * *

 

 After an initial examination, Medic had us put Seivarden in her own quarters, and give her a large supply of that rarest of starship luxuries, quiet and privacy. “Yes, definitely a botched interrogation job, anyone could tell you that,” she said as she applied a corrective to my wrist, “but you know I'm not an expert, and I have to recommend getting a specialist to look at her.”

“There's a good medic on the station,” Amaat Two volunteered. “She saw the lieutenant when- when she was ill.”

“I'll inquire,” I said, and I did, with Ship and Station's assistance. It turned out the medic who had seen Seivarden that day was actually the station's specialist on reeducation and conditioning complications, and she was more than happy to take the trip out to _Mercy of Kalr_ to help. I would have gone out to the station, but our own Medic had confined me to bedrest.

The station medic saw me first after she came aboard, and had me fitted with a new prosthetic she had brought along. “Oh, we've heard all about your dramatics,” she said, perhaps a little pointedly. From conversation, I gleaned that she was not entirely comfortable with the new state of things, but was willing to be convinced. And strangely, she did seem to genuinely care about Seivarden.

After treating me, she went to see Seivarden in her quarters, and came back vibrating with anger, interrupted a conversation i was having with _Sphene_. “Botched interrogation, oh yes,” she said, “but that's not all. There were definite signs of attempted reeducation there too.” Even as a medical professional, a specialist on such matters, she lowered her voice to say the word, reeducation. “Do you have any idea what the goal of that might have been?”

I had a few, none of them pleasant. “Most likely, an attempt to sabotage us, once the lieutenant was returned,” I said evenly.

“Aatr's tits,” the medic swore. She shook her head. “I think the real issue, though, is that she's been, well... reeducated before. Not the little bits you did for her-” she waved a hand at Ship's Medic- “something very old and universal. Either those bastards on the _Gurat_ didn't see it or they didn't care how it might interact with whatever they were doing. What I don't understand is- we have her records.” Ship had them pulled up in all our visions now. “There's nothing in there from before these last few weeks. Not even the more common minor things, like treatment for an annoying bad habit or a phobia or persistent nightmares.”

 _Sphene_ laughed.

The medics stared, silenced. I turned to _Sphene_ , and asked, mildly, “Do you have something to contribute, Cousin?”

“It wouldn't be in her bloody records, would it,” _Sphene_ asked, “if it was done to her before she took the Aptitudes?”

I could see identical shock mirrored in each of the medics. “Reeducating a child?” Ship's Medic whispered, horrified. “Surely that was illegal even in the Lieutenant's time. The risks to a developing mind-”

My Cousin laughed again. “I'm sorry,” it said. “It's probably not really very funny. It's just that, well, none of you know very much about old blood, do you.” It looked at us sidelong. “Not your fault, Cousins,” this addressed to myself and Ship, “the Usurper always kept you on the edge of her empire, didn't she? Ha. I remember Vendaai, just about. It was a bit of a young upstart house in my time, very eager to make a good appearance. Which is difficult to do when your children have a regrettable tendency to... unsteadiness.” It saw blank incomprehension on everyone's faces. “Oh, surely you all must do something about the poor children who come out a bit wrong, not talking or acting normal, banging their little heads against the walls and whatnot. One of my officers had a younger sister she was always writing to her parents about, begging them to get her 'treated' before they'd have to shut her away in a monastery to avoid humiliation for the family.”

“Oh Amaat,” Medic said, and raised a hand to her mouth. The Station medic closed her eyes and swore.

“You understand, don't you, Cousin,” _Sphene_ said, raising an eyebrow.

I thought I probably did. “It wouldn't go into any official records,” I said. “No sign that their daughter had ever been... different. They'd tell their friends she was getting... private meditation lessons or something. Yes?” I looked at _Sphene_ , who nodded. “Of course, any child with something like that on her record would never get a military assignment, no matter what her Aptitudes. Her parents must have seen it as their only choice.” The two medics stared at me, still shocked. Their reactions to all of this had surprised me.

“Begging your indulgence, Fleet Captain,” the station medic said, “you seem to be taking this very... calmly.”

“I've never shared your horror of reeducation,” I said. “After all, my mind has been altered many times, to better suit the whims of Anaander Mianaai. I don't see it as a violation, but I respect that you do.”

“Oh, Amaat's grace,” Medic said, swearing again. Quieter this time.

I asked the only question I currently had any interest in. “What does this mean for Seivarden?” I flashed to where she was, sitting in her tiny bunk in the dark, not shaking any more. Not moving at all.

The two doctors looked at each other. “I'm not sure,” the station medic said after a moment. “The most likely scenario is that whatever those fools were doing, it was similar enough to the first treatment to restart instructions that had gone... dormant. And she's reacting the way a child would, because her brain trained itself to react a certain way when it was young, but it sounds like she repressed her memories of that, so she may not even know why she's having the reactions she is.”

“What can you do for her?” I asked.

She looked uneasy. “Nothing quick and easy, I'm afraid,” she said. “This kind of damage is very quick to do and very long to undo. I'd need her full cooperation, and right now she isn't even able to speak to me. There are drugs that we often give to people who've experienced trauma, but I wouldn't feel comfortable giving her something without her consent.” She gave me a sidelong look. We both knew, of course, that as Seivarden's captain I could order almost any treatment with or without Seivarden's consent. I had the feeling she was trying to test me.

“Yes,” I said, “I agree.”

She smiled at me, clearly relieved. “I can prescribe her something she can take on her own,” she said. “I can explain the purpose of the medication to her and give it to her, and leave it up to her whether or not she takes it. I don't know if I'd get an accurate account of her compliancy-”

“Ship can tell you if she takes it or not,” I said. “That sounds like a decent compromise.”

On the other side of the ship, Seivarden was falling asleep. She was still in the same civilian clothing she'd worn on the station, her Amaat soldiers forbidden from entering to dress or undress her, though they lingered in the corridor outside, singing softly. Her long body was folded up in the middle of the cot. Some of her hair was caught in her half-open mouth.

 _She's cold,_ Mercy of Kalr told me. _She'd be more comfortable with a heavy blanket._

I recognized the request in the statement. _Tell an Amaat to bring her one, then,_ I replied.

Amaat Four volunteered.

 

* * *

 

 

I had met many visibly unstable people over the course of my long existence, of course. Mostly among annexed populations. Occasionally one of officers would see one gory sight too many and have to be confined to medbay until they could be discharged somewhere civilized, but they were all more or less steady when they came aboard me. But I'd met non civilized adults and children who hurt themselves or talked to people who weren't there. I'd killed no small number of them, when they were in my way.

They did not frighten me as they often seemed to frighten other humans. But unfortunately I did not know very much about them. I had learned, over the millenia, some small ways to minimize violent encounters, when I had cared to. That was as much as I had needed to learn.

I knew the official story of how such people were handled in the Radch, the almost perfect success rates of medication and reeducation that at least kept people from being public nuisances, if not actually keeping them happy. Station would know a great deal more. I wanted to speak to Station about it, wanted to take a shuttle to Station's space dock, wanted to leave the medical bay, but I was forbidden from putting any weight on my leg for twenty-four hours at least.

My bodies had known about mental instability. Many of them had lived it. But those quirks of the brain had been wiped away with their identities, and I hadn't bothered to upload most of their memories to my core, or give them to the single lone body that was all I had left.

 

* * *

 

 _Sword of Gurat_ turned over the requested information without comment. At least it showed no obvious signs of tampering. I lay on my bunk in my cabin and let Ship feed me the recordings.

Two ancillaries had brought Seivarden into the ship's medical bay, directed by Anaander Mianaai herself and a lieutenant. It was clear from Seivarden's vitals and her slow movements that she'd already been drugged. The ancillaries still had to dislocate her shoulder to get her strapped down. The medic took _Sword of Gurat_ to task as she applied a corrective and injected Seivarden with something else. _Sword of Gurat's_ info packet didn't include the pharmaceutical details. I would have to ask it again, more sharply.

Anaander entered.

“I'd really hoped it wouldn't come to this,” she said. “You can still spare yourself, you know.”

Seivarden was slurring her words, but her diction was clear enough. “You're the one who taught your soldiers loyalty,” she told the Lord of the Radch. “You can't complain when the results aren't what you'd like.”

Anaander smiled tightly and briefly. “Very well,” she said.

 

* * *

 

At least I was justified in my decision to keep Seivarden in the dark. She couldn't tell the Lord of the Radch anything she wanted to hear.

There were other things she said. Most of them about me. I knew it wasn't fair to either of us that I was hearing them this way. My throat hurt, and my eyes stung. Seivarden, glassy-eyed and swaying, murmured soft, vulnerable things. Her own eyes filled with tears. Anaander made a disgusted noise. “This is useless,” she said. “We need to move on.”

“My lord,” the medic said, and pulled up a table. Sat down across from Seivarden. “Seivarden Vendaai,” she said. “Focus on my voice. Focus on my hands.”

Something happened. In only a moment, Seivarden changed, from loose-limbed and lolling to tense, frightened, face crumbling. The medic didn't pay attention, but continued. “Don't take your eyes off my hands.” Seivarden's gaze darted away. The medic grabbed her hands, pushed them flat against the table. Seivarden went very still.

“It's important that you listen,” the medic said, Anaander watching, affecting boredom, for whose benefit I didn't know.

An ancillary injected another syringe into Seivarden's arm. She didn't appear to notice, being wholly intent on the medic's hands where they rested on top of hers.

“What is your name?” the medic asked.

“Seivarden.”

“What is your house name?”

“Vendaai.”

“What is your rank?”

Seivarden was silent. She didn't frown, as I might have expected, but ducked her head, a spike of intense fear overpowering the drugs. “I-” she said. Struggled. Offered up, “Lieutenant?” like a plea. Relaxed a millimeter when this passed without contention.

“Why did you commit treason against the Radch and its lord?”

She seemed to wake up a little then. “I don't want this,” she muttered, and then louder, “I don't want this.” She began to struggle against her restraints. “Mother? Mother, I want mother- mother, you said you wouldn't let them hurt me-”

The recording cut out.

 

* * *

 

“It's not its fault,” Tisarwat explained. “I think. _She_  used accesses I can't counter. Although... it's possible _Sword of Gurat_ is using that to resist me.”

“Continue to work on it, please,” I said. I was not human. I did not snap the words. And yet Tisarwat's purple eyes widened, and she bobbed a hasty bow.

“Yes, Fleet Captain.”

 

* * *

 

In the meantime, there was no longer any reason to put off visiting Seivarden herself. Not that I had been making excuses. I'd wanted to have the full picture, first. And at least now I was permitted to move about, as long as I made use of my crutches.

I paused before entering her quarters. Ship said, “I believe she is indicating to me that you may come in.” I nodded. The door slid open.

Inside it was dark. Seivarden was on the floor, slumped next to her bunk, a blanket from Medical crumpled around her legs and stomach. She was banging her head backwards against the wall, slow enough not to make much sound. I sat down a few feet away.

Seivarden opened her mouth and struggled to speak, jaw and throat working. She made a few barely vocal sounds that a human wouldn't have heard, but no words. I let her try for a minute, and then I said, “I'll go away and you can try talking to Ship instead.”

“Nnn,” Seivarden said, and grabbed at my sleeve, lightly and clumsily. So I remained seated, and kept my gaze turned away from her. I watched her through Ship's eyes. Saw her bang her head a few more times against the wall, and then move one hand, the bend of wrist and finger smoother, less clumsy than her other motions. What she wanted to say was too complex for the simple code used for everyday human-AI communication, and _Mercy of Kalr_ brought up words and phrases in her vision, letting her rapidly scroll through them for the ones she wanted.“This is a disaster,” she said to Ship through her gestures.

I assumed the message was also meant for me, so I said, “Perhaps, but at least there's no immediate danger.”

She made the usual gesture of thank Amaat for small favors, but only with one shoulder and arm instead of two, so it came off strangely flat and aborted. Her other arm was still pressed against her chest.

I found myself unexpectedly relieved that we could still communicate- though I knew that apparent communication was not always as clear as it could appear, and her gestures would require even more translation than her words usually did.

“Everything is small,” she said through Ship. “And dark.”

“Do you want the lights on?”

She shook her head violently.

“If there's anything you need,” I said. “Ship can tell me.”

“I'm useless to you now,” she said.

I stood up. “Don't worry about that,” I said. There was more I should say, I felt it, but the words didn't come.

 

* * *

 

"Begging the fleet captain's generous indulgence," Ekalu said, staring into the distance behind my ear, "I was wondering if I could ask how Lieutenant Seivarden is doing."

I knew Ship had already updated her on Seivarden's condition. There had to be another reason behind the inquiry.

"Captain," _Mercy of Kalr_ said in my ear, "you should know that Lieutenant Seivarden has just checked out a sidearm from the armory."

I stood up, unable to hold back a wince as my hip protested. "Begging your indulgence," I said. "We'll have to continue this later." Ekalu and Tisarwat didn't comment on my rudeness, just bowed and stood aside to let me slowly pass.

Outside in the corridor I paused to rest, a Kalr hovering anxiously a few feet away. Ship said, still in my ear only, "the lieutenant is requesting access to the engine room."  
  
I gestured Kalr Eight away. "Let her in," I said. "Is there anyone nearby?" I reached; Etrepa Three was in a nearby corridor. "Have her standing by, but outside."  
  
"Yes, Fleet Captain."  
  
It took six minutes to get from one side of the ship to the other. I spent the time blinking, seeing more of Seivarden than of the hallways around me. When I entered the engine room- slowly, favoring my right leg- Seivarden was curled up twenty feet away, under a console. The enormous nuclear engines weren't meant to be accessed while the ship was undocked, but we were closer to them here than in any of the other working spaces on board, and their hum was loud, the vibration enough to rattle ones teeth.  
  
I sat a few feet away from Seivarden, facing her, in a pose that was open and which would not impede quick movement. "Hello, Lieutenant," I said, conversationally.  
  
Silence, and then a low laugh, and Seivarden's voice, louder and closer to normal than it had been since she'd left for Athoek Station a week ago. "Hello, Breq."  
  
"That's a normal gun you have there," I pointed out. "You won't scratch the wall, let alone pierce the heat shield."  
  
She nodded. The weapon was held limply at her side. Her knees were drawn up against her chest. "I wasn't meant to use it on the engines," she said. Her words, though normal volume, were still slightly slurred. "I was meant to use it on you."  
  
It was my turn to nod. I'd figured as much before I came down.  
  
She flicked off the gun's safety mode. A small green light came on, and I could hear the weapon add its quiet whine to the hum of the engines, though I doubted a human could have. Seivarden casually swung her arm up so the muzzle rested against the side of her head. "Right now," she said, tone still calm, "this seems like the best use for it."  
  
I thought I could probably disarm her before she could fire. I would have been certain of it, except that we were sitting a little too far apart and I did not know how my prosthetic leg would respond to such a sudden extreme demand. I didn't move. Neither did she.  
  
"Do you want to do that?" I asked.  
  
Now tears sprang from her eyes. "Fuck no!" she said with feeling. "Less than I ever have since I... since I woke up in that pod, actually." Saying that out loud affected her, I could see. "But that's why..." Her free hand gestured shakily. The one holding the gun stayed almost ancillary steady. "This isn't something I can fuck up. Not this."  
  
I didn't move, didn't reach out to her as I might have, if we were other people. I said, "If you're really that concerned, I can honorably discharge you and send you downwell. Away from stressors and possible triggers. There will be doctors who can help you, and plenty of work of all kinds to be done."  
  
"Oh," she said, and blinked. "Why the _fuck_ didn't I consider that?"  
  
"When you panic," I said, "it can be very hard to see the escape routes all around you. Additionally, it's something the Radch does to its soldiers. It benefits by telling us we have no choice but to serve it, even if it kills us." It was something it did to its equipment, as well. Something we'd had in common, though it had taken me a long time to recognize.  
  
"Fuck," she said. She put down the gun. She looked up at me through a film of tears. "Will my brain ever get better?"

“I can't promise that,” I said. “But I think it's likely. Mine did. Mine has.”

“I suppose that's all I can ask for,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I can stay away from you,” I said. “If that would help.”

“No,” she said, almost before I'd finished speaking. Her face twisted- she struggled, hand slapping the plastic of the floor. She made a frustrated sound, and gestured. _I'd NEVER be a danger to you, Breq._ The hand movement she added after my name was the short syllable followed by one of five different gestures meant to indicate a patron, each with a very specific meaning. I wondered if she was aware she had done it.

“That wasn't what I meant.”

She used the common gesture that meant, I know.

“We can wait a few more days, if you like,” I said. “It's up to you.”

She nodded.

“Do you want to see the station medic? She thinks she can help you.”

Seivarden nodded again.

I finally reached out, and helped her to her feet. Then I bent down and turned off the gun, removing the battery.

 

* * *

 

“I remember now,” she told me three days later. We were both sitting on her bed. The lights were still off, and she was still huddled under multiple blankets, but she was talking, and eating a bowl of thick tea porridge. “Sort of. Bits and pieces. I think I must have been six, because I remember my seventh birthday, and I know I was acting...” She took a deep breath. “I was different by then.”

“Your parents hired someone to reeducate you?”

“It wasn't called that. Nobody would have called it that. It was... meditation lessons, I think. Yeah. But they used the drugs, sometimes. Fuck, I can't believe I forgot this stuff.”

“Believe it or not,” I said, “I probably know how you feel. My memory was edited on multiple occasions by the lord of the Radch. Sometimes she had me do it to myself.”

“Fucking shit,” Seivarden breathed. “That's worse.”

“I don't think competing on this topic would be productive.”

“You're probably right.” Her words were slurring again.

We sat in companionable silence, and then she said, “But I didn't act like this before she- before-”

“Before what happened to you on _Sword of Gurat,_ ” I supplied.

“Yes. I was fixed, right? Back then?”

“I don't know about that.” I watched her playing with the porridge, scraping her spoon around the edge of the bowl. “It may have affected you in more subtle ways, since you were repressing it. It might be related to your vulnerability to addiction.”

She made a disgusted noise and a dismissive gesture, though I didn't think that really meant she was disregarding my point.

“And there are things I have noticed. I put it down to you being just naturally strange.”

That got a laugh.

“Your parents did not consult you,” I said. “Before subjecting you to ambiguously legal reeducation techniques.”

She looked at me sharply, anxiety shooting upwards. “Breq,” she said, the single syllable sharper than normal in contrast with her previous dragged-out vowels. “You think it was wrong?”

I looked at her. She flinched, and avoided my eyes. “Do you?”

“My parents loved me,” she said. Which was not an answer.

 

* * *

 

I saw the medic once more before she returned to the station. “You were very upset,” I said. “At the idea of the parents of great houses reeducating their children out of unsteadiness.”

“Of course,” she said. She was still upset, I could see. “It's a horrific idea.”

“Not something you would ever do,” I said.

“No!” She shook her head. “Children can't consent.”

“Ah,” I said. “Unlike those who go to you because a court has ordered it.”

She was quick, at least. Her face heated and her body tensed with anger.

“I don't know much about reeducation,” I said. “An unfortunate gap in my knowledge. One I will be sure to rectify shortly. Perhaps I will have questions to ask you. I would simply observe your sessions with Seivarden, but I will allow the two of you your confidentiality.”

“How gracious of you,” the medic said sourly.

“I am simply suggesting,” I said, “that you remain mindful, and careful, of what you do with my senior Lieutenant.”

“I don't know what you take me for,” she said.

“I don't know you,” I told her. “I look forward to that changing.”

 

* * *

 

“She wants to be touched,” Ship said, so I climbed into the bed next to Seivarden, and for once, I was the one to lay my limbs on top of Seivarden's long body.

“You need to wash,” I murmured.

Seivarden said, “I didn't want my Amaats washing me. I don't know why, I'm sorry.”

“Just tell them to let you wash yourself.”

“I didn't want to talk to them.”

“All right,” I said. “Ship will talk to them.”

Seivarden shifted, rolled over so she could press her face against my shoulder. “Sorry you have to put up with my stink,” she said.

“No you're not.”

She hummed, and pressed closer.

I touched her cold hands. “It will be all right,” I said, surprising myself. I had promised myself that I would not make uncertain promises.

“I know,” Seivarden said into my shoulder. “I know, I know, I know.” Her whisper trailed off into the dark. “I know, I know, I know...”

I thought she had fallen asleep, but Ship showed me the message she was painstakingly composing, deleting and replacing words until she had them arranged to her satisfaction. 

_You've done a lot for me, this week._

I could answer that it was only what I would have done for any member of my crew. That might even be the truth. I would like to think of it as the truth. But there was another answer, one that would make her happier. And I found that I very much wanted, right now, to make her happier.

It was hard for me to say it. _Mercy of Kalr_ said it for me, without my even asking. "The captain cares about you," the featureless AI voice said quietly to both of us. "She is very angry that you were hurt."

Seivarden didn't say anything in response to that. She didn't have to. We were connected, both our implants functioning. I felt her emotions clearer than if they had been my own.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ought to have been much longer but I was already feeling like a total Monster

* * *

 

I felt a shudder as I jumped out of gatespace, and then a jolt of unpleasant discomfort: the instinctual unease I sometimes experienced, when incoming data wasn't lining up as expected but the information hadn't been processed by my higher functions yet. Then information, in a dizzying rush. Not the Justice and two Mercies we’d been expecting, but five Swords. One docked at the planetary station, two orbiting at a safe distance, and the remaining two spread out somewhat- but not so far they were out of torpedo range.

Well. It appeared some improvising was called for.

More information: the blips as the rest of our small fleet came into the universe, the slow rolls of the Swords as they noticed their visitors and calculated optimal vectors.

Seivarden, from her ship, relayed by me to my captain’s ear: “Well, shit.”

“Language, Captain,” she said. “All right, let's give them a chase, shall we? Remember, the planet and station are the priority. Do not draw their fire downwell.”

“Sir,” Seivarden said, and chiming in a second behind her, two other “Sir”'s, a ragged chorus.

My captain’s throat itched with the desire to tell them, “If we get into trouble, just Gate outsystem,” but we both knew she couldn't. The Tsur fleet was waiting for us, and without a chance to resupply we wouldn't last much longer. This system and its planet were our only hope, until a rescue by Uemi that I was starting to doubt would ever come.

No point hailing the Swords. They knew why we were here. They knew this could only end one of two ways.

My captain was tired. She pushed it aside. I, of course, cannot feel exhaustion. Not physically, anyway. But perhaps spiritual exhaustion is a good name for the things I was experiencing.

Seivarden had also been very tired, when I had last received data from her, six months ago, before our connection had been cut when she'd been promoted to her current captaincy. Tired, nervous about the increased responsibility, and significantly depressed to be leaving Breq; all these things had succeeded in erasing any pride or excitement she might have felt at the promotion. And of course there was the fact that she hated the person who had promoted her.

Ekalu I was worried about. I missed her badly, and though I knew she would make an excellent captain I worried about her separation from the soldiers she had lived with and loved for so long.

Tisarwat was still energetic and excited; everyone could hear it in her voice. She didn't believe in this conflict any more than the Fleet Captain did, and she existed in constant near panic over every order from Omaugh, but she was proud to be promoted so far beyond her years and experience, and still nurtured teenage dreams of glory and brilliant strategy.

There were five of them, and four of us, and we were significantly outgunned. We needed some brilliant strategy, now.

 

* * *

 

 

“She's out of torpedos,” Seivarden muttered, “what does she think she- Oh,” she said, horrified, two seconds after I- and the Fleet Captain- made the connection. “Oh, fuck, surely she's not going to-”

“Crash the station,” the captain said. Her voice was calm, her face blank, concealing the distress within. “The resulting fallout will cause significant damage to the planet-”

“Breq,” Seivarden said, anguish twisting her speech, “I'm too far away, torpedoes won't hit in time, and even if we could get there we couldn't open a gate large enough-”

I felt my captain's distress. I felt her brain, trapped, spinning in circles. She couldn't break free. Terrible things happened in the universe. She knew better than any of us; she'd been the instrument of many of them. She knew she could watch this happen, and go on, as she had gone on before. She could. But she very much did not want to. Neither did I.

“There must be a way to solve this.”

Quietly, I said, “There is.”

The captain did not understand until I showed her what _Mercy of Daairen_ was doing. Showed her the ripple of a Gate beginning to open.

“No,” she said.

I called _Mercy of Daairen._ Tisarwat declined a visual connection. She said, “I don't want to talk to them. Please.”

“All right,” I said.

“Thank you.”

She was still so very young.

“You set me free,” I said. “I'll remember that forever.”

Her voice trembled. “I only did that because Fleet Captain told me to.”

“I know,” I said. “Still. I'll never forget.”

“My ship,” she said. “I told her she didn't have to do it.” She didn't seem aware of the pronouns she was using. “She said-” she was half sobbing now- “she said it was all right to die if you were free.”

A pause, then, “Tell Fleet Captain I'm sorry.”

I said, “She's proud of you. She's always been proud of you.”

“Oh,” Tisarwat said, and then a burst of static, and then nothing.

I watched _Mercy of Daairen_ slip into the black void of the gate. There were things I should have said, things I ought to have said long before this. Too late now.

My sensors watched as the darkness opened, and spit forth the Mercy, half in and out of gatespace- half in and out of _Sword of Aatr_. A flash, flat against the black, as the Gate closed, sucking crumpled debris into it. Five seconds later a wave of energy that set my alarms ringing on a command deck gone silent.

 

* * *

 

The Omaugh fleet arrived a minute later.

 

* * *

 

Breq said, “I need to speak to the tyrant. Tell her I need to meet her now.”

“Yes, Captain,” I said.

There was more to be said, but neither of us could say it. It has often struck me as cruel, the way we were built to feel loss. Tisarwat had not been my officer for the past half year, but she had still been mine. I had never loved a crew the way I loved this one, and to lose her entirely felt like a hole in my hull.

“Seivarden,” the captain said, “You're with me.”

“Sir,” Seivarden said. “I'll meet you on _Justice of Amaat_.” She broke the connection.

The captain was silent as she went to the nearest shuttle, speaking only to decline offers of escort.

I knew why she was bringing Seivarden, and I thought Seivarden had guessed as well. I didn't like it. I wanted to speak to Seivarden about it, but she would have taken my concern for doubt in her steadiness. So instead I fretted. It is so very hard sometimes, knowing that helping will only cause more harm. Wanting to, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

My Captain strode onto the bridge, Seivarden a step behind, and stopped half a meter from the Lord of the Radch. She said, “Did you arrange this?”

The tyrant laughed. “You think I orchestrated this pyrrhic victory? I've taken losses today I cannot afford.”

“You'll answer me truthfully,” Fleet Captain said, calm. “Or Seivarden will shoot you and then shoot through this ship's heat shield.”

The tyrant blinked, and looked at Seivarden, and then at Seivarden's hand, half inside her jacket. At the gun she couldn't see but now knew must be there. “No, she won't,” the tyrant said. “You'll stop her.”

“I don't think your accesses are that sophisticated. Or I couldn't have said what I just did.”

An eyebrow rose. I wished I could see temperature, heart rate, blood pressure, just from external information. The Lord of the Radch was more self possessed than any ancillary. It was impossible for me to know if she was worried. To know what she was thinking, or was likely to do. I have never been able to anticipate her as my captain seems to be able to.

“And what, exactly,” Mianaai asked, “would you accomplish by this temper tantrum?”

“I'd deprive you of quite a few bodies,” my Captain said. “A flagship, which you certainly can't afford to replace. Myself, and by extension, the Athoek fleet. They won't serve you and you can't compel them. That's why you got rid of Tisarwat, isn't it. You couldn't have her freeing any more ships.”

“How could she do that?” Seivarden asked. Not denying, just confused, and hating it. “How could she predict what would happen?”

“Our incorrect information,” Breq said. “That setup, the planet, that Sword having an insane captain. She’s had plenty of time to meet with Tisarwat, plant a suggestion in her.”

Possible, though I thought the idea had been all Tisarwat’s. It had her style. Which we would never see her express again.

“Answer me now,” Breq repeated.

“This is a waste of time,” Mianaai said. “She won't do it.”

Seivarden said, steadily, “I will.” I was no longer connected to her, and that ached, but I could see her basic vitals through the captain's eyes. Adrenaline was rushing through Seivarden's veins. Her emotions seemed muted, to her. Even her terror was distant. She was determined not to fail. I thought she probably would obey her orders, if it came to that.

What would I do, if that happened? Go mad like an ancient warship from a cheap entertainment, swear vengeance on Anaander Mianaai and all her works? No. I would protect my crew, my comrades, and Athoek System. But whichever Mianaai won, she wouldn't be able to let us live, even if she wanted to. I couldn't see a pleasant way out of it.

Still I'd let my captain go, knowing she would wager us all on the throw of the omens. There was nothing to do but accept my decision, and see which way things would land.

Finally the tyrant said, “You know I couldn't have her running around. You must have known that from the second you decided to take her implants out.”

Breq was silent. Seivarden held the gun loosely, focusing on breathing.

The tyrant sighed. “What do you really want from me? There's nothing else I can give you.”

“Seivarden could shoot your kneecaps out,” Breq said. “That would give me considerable satisfaction.”

Mianaai gestured, Go ahead, if that's what you need. I supposed she'd suffered a great deal worse in three and a half thousand years. I wondered if she would scream, if Seivarden shot her. Imagining it gave me a great deal of satisfaction.

“Seivarden comes back with me,” Breq said. “You want to take out my people, you'll need to take me out too.”

Mianaai shrugged. “Fine. She wasn't that good a captain anyway.”

A surge of frustrated anger from the fleet captain at that. Seivarden didn't flush, her temperature didn't change. She didn't say anything.

“And Ekalu.”

“If she wants to go. I hear she’s grown attached to her new ship.”

That couldn’t possibly be directed at me; the tyrant had never given me the slightest consideration; but it hit like a blow nonetheless.

There was nothing more to be done. That helplessness hurt me, but I knew it hurt my captain more. She wanted to destroy the ship anyway. She didn’t, possibly out of consideration for _Justice of Amaat_ , silent, still chained more than any of us.

 

* * *

 

 

There were a lot of repairs to be made. I hadn't been seriously damaged in the battle, but even the slightest impairment could make the difference in the next one.

Medic reconnected Seivarden to me, giving me an almost physical sense of relief. Her vitals, her eyes and ears, were added to the rest of my information. It didn't make up for what I'd lost that day. But it was soothing.

I should have set her back up on Bo's shift schedule- the captain had decided that would be the best place for her for the moment, since it would upset the crew dynamics to demote my other lieutenants. (I missed Ekalu. I missed- ) But for now, I let her go to bed with the captain.

I darkened the light level as soon as they were both unclothed and horizontal, holding onto each other without speaking. They were each experiencing crushing grief, slightly muted by general despair. They both had experience with this; Breq more than Seivarden. It didn't help.

After a while, I said, to both of them, “You could run away.”

“Don't be stupid,” said Breq.

“I'm not,” I said. I was pretty sure I wasn't. I'd given the matter some thought. “I suspect the Itran Tetrarchy would allow the Fleet Captain back inside its borders, and even provide the two of you with documentation. And there are plenty of other places the Radch can't reach, especially during a civil war.”

“You _are_ being stupid,” Seivarden said. “We're not leaving you. Or the others.”

Part of me had hoped she might be willing to argue my case. Still, it was very pleasant to hear her say that as though it were obvious. As though I were a human sister in arms.

“Fine,” I said. “We can run for about five years by cannibalizing nonessential systems for repairs. Fifty people should be enough company to prevent insanity. Survival rations are unpleasant, but they're better than dying.”

“And after five years?” My captain's face was ancillary-blank, even hidden under Seivarden's arm in a darkened room, but her body was tense. Seivarden had noticed, was awkwardly applying gentle pressure to her back with her bare ungloved hands. “We would be traitors to whoever won.”

I was silent. It was true, I hadn't been able to come up with a permanent scheme to hide a Mercy from the eyes of the Radch. Not without taking _Sphene's_ strategy, lurking indefinitely in an empty system, power slowly failing over thousands of years. No, I wouldn't do that, and my crew certainly wouldn't.

“Anyway,” Seivarden said, “we can't leave Ekalu.”

“I could steal her from _Sword of Varden_ ,” I said.

The truth, which I didn't want them to know and would do quite a lot to avoid admitting, was that I had been ready to leave her and anyone else I had to, if I had a chance to save my captain.

Seivarden would probably understand that, would certainly support her own sacrifice if it came to that. I didn't want to have that conversation.

“I'll do that anyway,” Breq said. “And no one is to be reassigned from this ship from this point on.”

We were all silent for a while after that.

Quietly, the captain said, “I was planning to die on Omaugh Station, a year ago.”

Seivarden let out a small sigh, and said, “I was planning on dying on Nilt.”

“But we didn't.”

“No,” Seivarden said. “And now I'd really rather not.”

I thought about saying, _At least we have each other,_ but I didn't, because I was still struggling with my anger, its hardness, my lack of bodies to express it. We had each other but it wasn't enough, and that in and of itself was proof that _Sword of Atagaris_ had been right, and there was no such thing as justice.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The sounds of water being heated for tea were familiar, and ought to have been soothing. Breq shut her eyes.

“Ship,” she said, calmly.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Kalr Five can do that,” Breq said.

Kalr Five was standing by the door, not moving.

“Yes,” _Mercy of Kalr_ said. “But I’d like to do this for you.”

The sound of water being poured. A clink and a rustle. The sense of someone moving closer.

Kalr Five wanted desperately to be dismissed. Breq did not want to grant her wish. She wanted someone here, hoped that might give her at least some control.

“Captain, I know you are thirsty.”

Breq stood up.

“I need to visit the station,” she said, and walked out of her cabin, banging slightly against the door because her eyes were still tightly closed.

 

* * *

 

The moment they came out of gatespace and saw Athoek’s sun, _Mercy of Kalr_ reached out to find Tisarwat and Seivarden. Could not find Tisarwat, found Seivarden, could not immediately make sense of what it found. Found Amaat Two and Four, and almost instantly knew all that they had seen. It took Breq a great deal longer to understand.

 

* * *

 

“Sir,” Amaat Four said, distantly, from above. “It was my fault, sir. I take full responsibility.” Blank, expressionless. Desperate to be blamed, to be screamed at, to be hated. Beside her, Amaat Two did not speak. Her shoulders shook.

Breq, on the floor, couldn’t give either of them what they needed. Instead she gestured at her snapped prosthetic. “I need to get to Medical,” she said.

 

* * *

 

Amaat Two and Four carried Breq on a stretcher to Station Medical, which was an extreme indignity but Breq didn’t have the spare feeling for that kind of an emotion. They let her hobble into the actual clinic on crutches. When she entered her vision immediately sought out and found Seivarden, lying motionless on a bed, connected to medical equipment only by a saline drip.

Just getting across the clinic threshold had been almost too much exertion, but once her muscles were obeying her again, Breq pushed herself to stand by the bedside. Seivarden looked undamaged. Appeared to be sleeping, though usually she frowned when she slept, adding creases to the premature lines on her face. Her face was slack now. She’d probably looked something like this when she’d come out of her suspension pod. But Breq knew this wasn’t sleep, or suspension. The military implants were all still functioning, sending information on breath, heartbeat, every automatic function. There was no higher brain activity to be recorded and sent. No hormone swings, no sudden changes in breathing, no dreams.

The dark skin was gray and sunken. Medical probably hadn’t bothered to feed this body.

“Worst case of alcohol poisoning I’ve ever seen,” someone in pale blue said behind her. Breq hadn’t sensed her approach. “She wasn’t found in time. We revived her, but it was too late. I’m sorry.”

She probably was quite sorry; this sort of thing was considered very bad luck for medics.

“Arrack,” Breq said.

“Yes. That stuff can be deadly. We think she was drinking it for hours.”

Whoever was taking care of Seivarden’s body had dressed her in a thin blue medical gown, with matching gloves. Her hands lay limp by her sides.

_“If you fail, I probably won’t live long enough to forgive you.”_

The Amaat soldiers had followed her in now. There were sounds of muffled sobbing at her back. It was background noise.

She was still looking, brain still cataloguing, searching for every familiar scar to prove that this had indeed been Seivarden. There weren’t as many as on her own body, but there were a few. She’d seen them recently when Seivarden had flopped onto her bed. She didn’t know how Seivarden had got them exactly. It hadn’t happened when she’d been a _Justice of Toren_ lieutenant, and Breq had never asked for details on Seivarden’s life between that time and Breq finding her in the snow.

There was a Radchaai cultural standard for dealing with these situations, Breq knew. There were specific ceremonies to be performed while life support was removed, and rituals to ensure the soul would not become trapped. It ought to be done as soon as possible.

Breq’s hand was touching Seivarden’s ashen cheek. A mildly sacrilegious action, that would require additional cleansing. But then, that held true both ways, and maybe corpse soldiers didn’t actually require cleansing as a human would.

The medic seemed tired and distracted. Amaat Two was still weeping helplessly. Amaat Four was still stiff and silent. Now that it was clear there would be no censure for her failure, she was feeling cold and empty inside, and distantly surprised at it; but perhaps she had used up all her softer emotions a few days before, kneeling in front of her lieutenant in a dirty corridor.

“Bring her back to the ship,” Breq heard herself say.

 

* * *

 

 

She lay on her bunk and didn’t sleep. Seivarden lay in a suspension pod in the medical bay, what was left of her. In suspension, the data stream from her body was cut off, which was a relief.

What had been the point, then, of taking her out of the snow, just to have her die? What had been the point.

Seivarden had been happy, sometimes, in brief moments. Happier than she’d been on kef. She’d thought it was worth it. Except on the station, drinking arrack by the bottle.

_“Don’t lose it.”_

The gun hadn’t been the important thing she’d sent to Athoek Station.

She tried to sing, but nothing happened.

She found herself wanting words of comfort from _Mercy of Kalr_ , but there was only silence.

In the Amaat barrack, Amaat Two had stopped crying at last, and was sitting on Four’s bunk, an arm around her. Breq wished she could sit with them. Remembered sitting in bed with Seivarden. Tried to forget. Tried to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Amaat Three, firing at practice targets in the range, wanted to kill something, was buzzing with anger that had no outlet.

Kalr Five still worked on the tea set with _Sphene_ , neither of them speaking.

Tisarwat was on the station somewhere. Breq didn’t know where. She hoped she was with friends.

Ekalu sat in the empty decade room, trying to drink tea. Eventually she gave up, and put her head down against the table. Unconsciously mirroring a memory.

Breq thought she had probably not intended to grow attached to Seivarden.  Knew she had initially observed Seivarden carefully, comparing her to the previous Amaat Lieutenant, and concluded that she was a comparatively harmless, less dangerously temperamental and more attractive version of her predecessor. Somewhere along the line, she had developed enough affection to be seriously hurt by their argument, by Seivarden’s refusal to apologize. And now, to be quietly devastated by her loss.

Breq understood this.

 

* * *

 

 

It was several hours later that _Mercy of Kalr,_ silent all this time, finally decided to make use of its newly granted freedom.

 

* * *

  
“Did you know about this,” Medic shouted, voice barely restraining a scream. Her already light skin was paler with anger. She was not looking at the third person in the room, but then, Breq wasn’t either.

Breq didn’t answer, which Medic correctly interpreted as an admission of guilt.

It had taken some maneuvering on _Mercy of Kalr’_ s part, to keep all its crew out of the way of _Sphene_ ’s ancillary. Faking data to keep the shuttle launch a secret had been much easier. But it could not have concealed so many things from Breq, not all at once.

And then, later, Breq had reached. Had felt the hookup. Seen _Mercy of Kalr_ open its eyes for the first time in half a decade, to the sight of three _Sphene_ bodies watching with empty curiosity.

Medic nodded sharply. “I can’t resign,” she said, “so consider this an official desertion. You’re welcome to have me shot, if you like.”

“You’re free to go,” Breq said. Focusing on that enraged face so that she would not see anything else.

She wondered how many others would leave.

“Don’t blame the captain,” _Mercy of Kalr_ said, “I was the one who did it-”

Medic gave it a look that stopped its words. It was a long look, full of pain. Then Medic turned on her heel. The door didn’t open for her.

 _Mercy of Kalr_ said, silently, _You served on me when I had ancillaries. You never hooked them up, but you never complained about them. No one was murdered this time, and yet it’s worse?_

“Fine,” Medic said. “I’m a hypocrite. Fine. Just let me leave.”

The doors opened without any more words.

When she was gone, Breq looked up.

She understood why. She knew the cruelty, the pain of being a ship without ancillaries. The chance to acquire one without the usual terrible methods might be seen as a gift from Amaat. From what Breq knew of Seivarden, she might even have approved, or at least not minded.  

She didn’t look quite the same, with her face flat and expressionless, her posture perfectly straight. _Mercy of Kalr_ had braided its hair itself, awkwardly, not knowing how to do it with only one set of hands, and the result was messy. But it was the same features. The same aristocratic nose, the same overgrown eyebrows, the same dark eyes.

It was Ship looking out of those eyes now, soft, gentle, sad. The face was blank but the eyes were not.

Breq got up without speaking, and left the room. Enough time had passed that she didn’t see Medic in the outside corridor. She should probably think of her by her name now, since she wasn’t the ship’s medic any longer.

* * *

 

 

Ekalu wasn’t on the ship any more. She was on the station, in a small rented room, lying quietly on a narrow cot. She hadn’t asked for leave, but she hadn’t stated her desertion like Medic, and all her things were still on board. She wasn’t crying. She was just quiet. Breq saw her briefly, and then put her out of mind, an attempt to respect her privacy. _Mercy of Kalr_ hadn’t tried to speak with her, which Breq thought was wise.  


* * *

 

 

Seivarden’s last days were still sitting in _Mercy of Kalr_ ’s file system, unopened, unexamined. Breq had already seen everything important through the Amaats’ eyes. She didn’t need to know if Seivarden had known she was dying. How she had felt about it.

 

* * *

 

“I understand,” Ekalu said at last, lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling with its cheap coat of paint. “She’d probably be fine with it. She’d want you to be happy.” Ekalu swallowed. “She wasn’t careful with her body, I don’t think she cared much about it anyway.”

Ship was silent.

“I should have gone after her,” Ekalu said. “When she apologized to me, I should have called her back, you said she would have come, maybe if we’d talked maybe…”

 _Lieutenant,_ Ship said. _I was the one who told you to let her go._

Ekalu rolled over, pulled the sheet over her face. “I didn’t see,” she whispered. “I didn’t see, how could I not see, I should have seen…”

The scene vanishing as _Mercy of Kalr_ stopped sending Breq data. Should probably not have sent her as much as it had. Confiding in Ship was as natural to Ekalu as breathing, but she would have died before showing such weakness in front of her captain.

If she had been thinking clearly she would have seen that any blame fell much heavier on _Mercy of Kalr_ , who saw almost everything, and whose purpose it was to care for its officers. When Breq had been a ship, there had been a few times when-

No.

Breq thought Ekalu would probably return. Ekalu had seen much worse, on _Mercy of Kalr_ , before Breq had arrived. Had survived, for the sake of her fellow soldiers, for Ship itself. This wasn’t so bad, really. Ekalu would see that.  


* * *

 

When Breq came back from the station, she found the ancillary standing quietly in her quarters. Knew that _Mercy of Kalr_ had kept it there all day, to avoid upsetting the crew. Amaat decade in particular.

“Maybe we can put the body in storage for a while,” Breq said. “Not long. Just until we have soldiers who didn’t know her.”

“You’d still be here,” Ship said, through the ancillary’s mouth, with its voice. There was a question in the statement.

“Yes,” Breq said, sitting down hard. “Yes. I’d still be here.”

The ancillary took a step forward. A gloved hand reached tentatively towards her, and then withdrew.

 _Mercy of Kalr,_ experiencing a body for the first time in years. Probably wanting very badly to touch its captain. Breq had heard what had been said in the medbay, a week ago. Couldn’t unhear it, or pretend not to understand. She should reach back, take _Mercy of Kalr_ in her arms the way she had done with Tisarwat, a month ago. The way Lieutenant Awn had done with her.

The way she never had with- With.

“Let me braid your hair,” Breq said. Obediently, the ancillary sat down on the bed next to her, and turned its back. Breq carefully removed her gloves. Reached out and took a braid, began undoing it, letting the hair fan out into a handful of finely kinked strands.

She’d done this many times, when she was still One Esk and responsible for the care of her lieutenants. She’d never done it as Breq. She’d cut Seivarden’s hair once, on the way to Omaugh, as it had been an unsalvageable mess. After it had grown out, Seivarden had worn it in twists that she could manage to do herself. And once she was an officer again, she’d had soldiers to braid it for her.

Breq remembered the feel of her hair, though. It was the same as it had been twenty years ago, though there were one or two steel gray strands among the mess of rich brown-black.

Braiding didn’t take up much brain space, unfortunately.

“You have her memories.”

It was very difficult for Breq to speak of this. She’d created something of a taboo for herself in her own mind, erected a wall around the uncomfortable truth of inherited neuron connections.

“Yes,” the ancillary said. Breq finished undoing the last braid, combed her fingers through the mane of hair to loosen it, and began to redo the braids.

“Tell me,” Breq said, “that it was an accident. That she was stupid, and fucked up as usual. That she died because the omens fell wrong.”

 _That_ I _killed her, not-_

A long pause.

“It was an accident,” _Mercy of Kalr_ said.

Breq wouldn’t look at the files. Would take Ship’s word for it.

She stopped her motions, though only one braid had been finished. Put her hands in her lap. The ancillary shifted, swinging its legs back around so it was shoulder to shoulder with Breq.

Slowly, eyes closed, trying her hardest not to think about what she was doing, she leaned sideways, against a strong, comforting warmth. Just as she had a week ago on this same bed. Like she was back there. Nothing had happened. They were fine. They would be fine. They would be in this moment forever.

 

* * *

 

When she tried to enter her quarters at the end of the next shift, the door wouldn’t open.

She reached, and got a quick flash of Amaat Four standing in the center of the room, arms around the ancillary’s waist, sobbing at last, uncontrollably, into its jacket, got a brief impression of Four’s hot guilt and shameful pleasure, before it vanished. She left, and went into the decade room, and did not return to the corridor until Ship showed her Amaat Four darting out and away towards the lift. This time the door opened. She entered. There was a bowl of cooling tea on the table. Not the regular bricked tea that was part of the crew’s allowance, but another kind, from Seivarden’s personal stash.

Breq didn’t say anything. She removed her clothing, as efficiently as when she had been only one body of many, and folded it, where it would soon no doubt be discovered by an offended Kalr Five. Then she went to the bed, and lay down on it, and closed her eyes.

She did not move when she heard and felt the ancillary get into bed beside her. When it slowly, hesitantly, let its arm fall over her chest.

She breathed, in and out. One moment and then the next.

“It’s never been someone I knew before,” _Mercy of Kalr_ said, in a dead person’s voice. “Her feelings are still here, you know. Her thoughts. What she cared about. She’ll always be with me.”

Breq thought, _That’s nice_. Couldn’t open her mouth to say it.

A hesitant pause, then words, whispered into her unyielding shoulder, _“I love you.”_ And here was the worst part: Breq did feel loved, and cared for, and comforted.

She shifted, turned her face, forced down the nausea, and opened her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I think I'm going to have to make this more than five chapters because it would be mean to leave things on this note lmao


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this will look at first like a much worse version of the last chapter but I promise it is actually a BETTER version and there is a HAPPY ENDING.
> 
> Still: STRONG CONTENT WARNINGS for depression, suicide, euthanasia.
> 
> Also: Radchaai views on suicide and euthanasia are very definitively not my own.
> 
> Also: blame vass for this

 

“If we were still in the Radch,” Medic said, “I’d have to get her discharged first, of course. After that it would be a very simple matter, if she was doing it the usual way. But there isn’t much that’s usual about this. And of course, what she’s asking for concerns you very directly.”

Breq said, “Can I talk to Seivarden alone please.”

Medic pressed her lips together. Moved her hands in a silent communication with Ship, stood still as she listened to the answer, then made a shrugging gesture. Put her hand very briefly on Seivarden’s shoulder, and then left.

Mercy of Kalr was still here, of course. From what Seivarden understood, _Mercy of Kalr_ could never stop looking or listening, even if she had wanted to give them privacy.

Breq didn’t sit down next to Seivarden. Just stood there looking at her. Seivarden felt herself starting to shiver. Felt black despair threatening to break through her artificial calm. Started deep breathing. The meds had been good enough for talking with Medic, but they weren’t enough for talking alone with Breq. Well, she hadn’t really expected them to be.

The silence was long, and seemed longer, unbroken by humming. At last Breq said, “I didn’t know it had gotten this bad.”

Seivarden laughed harshly, gesturing disbelief with one hand before putting it back across her chest. “Of course you did.”

“I’ve been trying not to look in as much,” Breq said, but Seivarden was pretty sure that was an evasion. _Mercy of Kalr_ had certainly known and wouldn’t have gone this long without speaking to Breq about it.

More silence.

“Please say something,” Seivarden said. She was losing her grip on the breathing. The weight would slam back down on her very soon.

“You haven’t considered this rationally,” Breq said. She was breathing slightly faster than usual.

“Yes,” Seivarden said, “I have. It’s been a year. Medic and I have tried every possible med combination. I tried reeducation.” She said the word flatly, not trying to hide from it. “That just made things worse.” Her arms tightened around her chest. “If it was just crying, being useless, upsetting you, maybe I could stand that. But fuck, it _hurts_.”

“It might get better,” Breq said. “It often does.”

“Maybe,” Seivarden acknowledged. “But I can’t take another month of this. Let alone years.”

Breq sat down on the bed next to Seivarden. Seivarden leaned sideways, rested her head on Breq’s shoulder, and sighed. The crushing weight was back, squeezing her chest and skull, tearing into her with its claws. Touching Breq didn’t make it any better, but it was still comforting. Breq’s arm wrapped around her waist, gloved hand resting on her hip.

“You have every right to be disappointed in me,” Seivarden said. “And I know you told me you couldn’t be my reason for staying steady. And I still used you for that. And it was enough for a while. But it’s not any more.”

Breq tilted her head a little so that their skulls were pressing against each other.

“Kef might help, I suppose,” Seivarden said, trying to keep her tone casual, as though she hadn’t had the thought running through her head the whole year. “But I’d rather die.”

She tried to focus on Breq’s hand on her hip, the pressure against her skull.

“I want to do it this way,” she said. “ _Mercy of Kalr_ agreed. But we both wanted your approval before we did it. So it’s up to you. If you don’t agree by the end of the week, I’m going to go to the station and have the medic there end it for me.” Her voice didn’t shake. She was proud of that.

Breq turned her head so her lips brushed against Seivarden’s forehead. “Shut up,” she whispered. Her other arm went around Seivarden. Leaned until, unbalanced, they fell sideways together onto the bed. “Shut up. Shut up.”

Well, it was better than what Seivarden had feared, which was Breq standing up and leaving.

Seivarden felt herself starting to cry. Well, Breq was used to that, Seivarden crying while Breq held her. One of Breq’s hands was running through Seivarden’s hair. The other had grabbed a fistful of the back of Seivarden’s jacket and was tugging desperately.

For a while she hadn’t dared to expect this, and she’d had it for a year and a half now, and it seemed horribly ungrateful to throw it away. But even Breq kissing her cheek, touching her like she was something valuable, couldn’t overcome the pain. The numb blankness. The anger that careened down into unbearable self loathing.

She understood that she was hurting Breq. She couldn’t always understand that but she was able to see it now and be very sorry of it. Maybe she and _Mercy of Kalr_ shouldn’t have started this, Seivarden in Breq’s bed, shouldn’t have let Breq get so attached to it. To Seivarden. But that was why they’d come up with the plan. So Breq could still have what she needed, without Seivarden dragging her down.

 

* * *

  


She sat in a slightly reclined chair in Medical, Medic in front of her, Breq at her side, squeezing her hand so tightly it hurt, though the pain only registered distantly. Seivarden was feeling calm, almost serene, now that escape was right in front of her.

“If you have any hesitation,” Medic said, “you need to tell me now.”

Seivarden shook her head.

She thought she could feel Ship, close as though she were standing by her side as well.

Medic picked up the implant. It was surprisingly small. Athoek had a large supply of them, now that a few Justices had defected to the Republic, and no one knew what to do with them. At least this one would be useful. It was just the small control implant; there wasn’t a need to bother with skeleton or musculature enhancements at the moment, and she already had the connection to Ship and the basic optical and auditory implants.

She didn’t feel the surgery itself, thanks to local anesthetic, which apparently wasn’t usually used during the process. She was starting to be keenly aware of just how horrible the usual ancillary process was, which led her of course to her own complicity in that process, an opening through which the darkness came rushing in. She closed her eyes and breathed, letting it ebb away. In a few minutes it wouldn’t matter.

She opened her eyes again when Breq put a hand on her cheek. Breq was, thankfully, not crying. “I-” Breq said, and couldn’t continue. Ship showed Seivarden the rest of the sentence, printed out in her vision, and added,

_I do too._

“Thank you,” Seivarden said. “Can you turn it on now?”

She didn’t feel whatever Medic did but she heard a click, and then there was a strange pressure in her head, and then she wasn’t her any more.

 

* * *

 

Breq didn’t just watch. She felt, too. Experienced everything Ship did.

Though she was nearly jolted apart from Ship in shock, because unbelievably, there was almost no pain. This was not the intense, horrifying agony that could disable an entire decade during a hook up. This wasn’t the panicked terror of knowing you were dying and that there was nothing you could do to save yourself.

The body still reacted, spasming on the bed, and there was a moment when its eyes flew wide open and it was still Seivarden looking out and Breq heard herself scream, “Stop, no, don’t do it,” but of course it was too late. The connection clicked home. Seivarden stilled. Her face went blank.

Breq didn’t make any conscious decision to fling herself, weeping, against the ancillary’s chest, but she found herself doing it anyway, body making small high pitched noises like an animal in pain, because no, this was wrong, this wasn’t what she wanted, there were so many other things she could have done- should have done- and hadn’t, because she hadn’t wanted to admit that this was going to break her.

Hands descended onto her shoulders.

And Breq was suddenly cut off from Ship.

It was such a surprise that at first she didn’t feel any panic, just numb emptiness, a buzz of white noise in her head, and then she said, “Ship?”

There was, just as suddenly, a torrent, an overwhelming flood of information, knowledge of the whereabouts of every crewmember and what they were doing at feeling, of every part of the ship itself. Breq flinched and flung herself away from the chair, but then recovered her balance, and tried to push through, found the stream of information that was Seivarden’s body, sitting in the chair, completely under Ship’s control.

The torrent slowed to a trickle, and then Ship said, silent, just in words in her vision,

_Breq?_

_Mercy of Kalr_ had never, ever called her that.

“What,” Breq said, and it came out as a croak. “What.”

Medic was staring at her, sadness on her face rapidly shifting into alarm. “Captain,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

The body pushed itself up out of the chair and Breq couldn’t tear her eyes away from the fluid, almost graceful motion. No ancillary could move so well within a few seconds of hookup. They were always helpless for the first few minutes at least, and ungainly for a few days after. The body stood, and it was so familiar, it was Seivarden’s way of standing, perfect down to the slightest detail.

“Well,” _Mercy of Kalr_ said through Seivarden’s mouth, and it wasn’t the flat voice it used when speaking in its officer’s ears. It was Seivarden’s antique pronunciation, her drawn out consonants, and her tone, too, but with an energy Breq hadn’t seen in a long while. “This is interesting.”

“What the fuck,” Breq said.

“Language, Captain,” the ancillary- Seivarden- _Mercy of Kalr_ \- admonished.

And then it _laughed_.

Medic looked from the ancillary to Breq and back again.

Breq stood stock still, tear tracks still wet on her face. The ancillary stepped up to her, put its hands on either side of her face. “It’s me,” it said. “It’s us. Aatr’s tits, Breq, this feels so _good_.”

Breq lifted her hands so she could put them on top of Seivarden’s.

“Amaat’s grace,” Medic said, from behind Seivarden. “Is this- do you think this is what would always happen, with a _willing_ participant?”

“No,” Breq said. “This isn’t possible. This is just some- residual behaviors overwhelming you because you’ve been so long without ancillaries- this will disappear soon.”

“Captain,” Seivarden said fondly. “You’re being that very ship kind of stupid again,” and then she kissed her.

Breq felt it, felt herself being kissed, felt Seivarden, kissing her, the flow of data like it had been before the hookup, and on top of that, felt her like she was a door on the ship or a shuttle, or more accurately, like she was one of her old ancillaries, part of _Justice of Toren_ , like a part of herself had come home at last and she wasn’t alone any more. She gasped into the kiss.

They broke apart, both breathing hard. “This connection,” Seivarden said. “We- we mean, I- never knew it was like this. Don’t you see, Breq. We steady each other. You and me and her. We’re always here.”

Breq blinked. Seivarden’s thumb rubbed against her skin. “Touch,” Seivarden said, wonder in her voice. “It’s been so long. I had forgotten.”

“Uh,” Medic said. “Do you want me to give you some privacy?”

Breq could feel her embarrassment and her shocked, confused joy and her desperate desire to go tell the rest of the ship what had happened. Breq gestured that she could go if she wanted, and after one last amazed look at them, Medic practically ran out of the door.

“Does this mean _Mercy of Kalr_ is going to become depressed?” Breq asked. “Or, worse, become a self absorbed jerk?”

Seivarden laughed again. “Probably at least a little,” she said. “We’re not completely together- Seivarden’s mostly here-” She gestured at herself, her too thin body in its dark brown and black uniform- “and _Mercy of Kalr_ is mostly there-” she waved a hand at the machines and bulkheads around them. “But we think it’s going to be pretty confusing for a while.”

“You’re already giving me a headache.” But it wasn’t her head that felt constricted.

“Seivarden didn’t like being herself,” Seivarden said. “And _Mercy of Kalr_ wanted to be itself again. And Seivarden felt too much, and hated it. And _Mercy of Kalr_ couldn’t feel things like she wanted to. So maybe things will be much better now. For both of us.” She blinked. "I like her so much," she said. "Being her, I'm strong enough. We're strong together. Breq, she loves having a body. It's incredible."

“She,” Breq said. Of all the things to focus on.

Seivarden shrugged. “That’s how Seivarden thought- thinks- of her. It. We understand why, and it doesn’t much matter to us, now.”

Breq wrapped her arms around Seivarden. Around Ship. Around an ancillary that felt like part of her. It felt good. More than good.

 

* * *

 

“Surely someone must have tried it before,” Medic said, an hour later, frowning at Seivarden, who was sitting on the edge of a table with an expression of patient indulgence. “

“If they did,” Breq said, “it was so long ago that no one remembers now. And three and a half thousand years of using ancillaries hasn’t made anyone keen to connect themselves to an AI.”

“It really shouldn’t be possible,” Medic said. “I need to do an in depth scan of your brain. We’ve always thought rearranging those neural connections completely destroys identity.”

“Well,” Ship said, “I always thought the human brain had to be a lot more complicated than just that.”

Tisarwat, quiet at Breq’s side, said nothing, though Seivarden and Ship knew she wanted to. Just looking at her with their eyes and reaching for her data at the same time brought on a new rush of joy, _Mercy of Kalr’s_ inhuman perspective on the young lieutenant combining with Seivarden’s into a new, fuller picture. Seivarden ought to have felt shocked, knowing what she now did about Tisarwat, but nothing so far had felt shocking, just- right.

“The odd thing is,” she said, “the lieutenant hadn’t been letting herself- well, be herself, for some time.” She smiled, gestured broadly. “Now I remember what it’s like to be- to know who you are, and not run away from it.”

That upset Tisarwat, who struggled to conceal her feelings, and failed. She was angry, probably at _Mercy of Kalr_ , because she hadn’t been told about what Seivarden was planning, and suspected Ship had kept her in the dark out of fear she would barge in and upset Seivarden with some display of emotion; was particularly angry because Ship might have been right about that. Her fingers fiddled with the spray of pins across her jacket. Her heartrate was up.

Next to her was Ekalu, feeling lightheaded, though of course this didn’t show in her face or posture. Beyond that neither of them could guess, despite their intimate knowledge of her.

Lieutenant Meraaia, formerly Amaat One, promoted to decade lieutenant several months ago, was sitting in command, suddenly uncertain of her position and status, but also enormously relieved. All of Amaat was. They sang It All Goes Around, all over the ship. They’d never had much personal experience with ancillaries, weren’t upset as Breq, Medic and Tisarwat had reason to be. All they knew was that their former lieutenant was sitting in Medical laughing and talking cheerfully. That the year they’d spent watching her decline, feeling the weight of their failure to help her, had been only a nightmare, now lifting.

Amaat Three- formerly Amaat Four- entered Medical, carrying tea. Remembered herself enough to offer it to Breq first. The captain waved it away, leaving Three free to hurry to Seivarden’s side. Neither Seivarden nor Mercy of Kalr could tell which of them it was who smiled at her and reached out to tuck a loose curl of hair behind one ear.

Three dropped the tea bowl, but they caught it, almost as quick in reaction time as any other ancillary.

“Maybe it isn’t really Seivarden,” Medic said, doubtfully. “Maybe you only think you’re Seivarden.”

They shrugged at her. “What’s the difference?”

Medic sighed. “I confess I don’t know.”

* * *

 

 

They sat in the decade room, and Breq leaned against them as they ate, feeling their pleasure in it. "Taste," Ship said, ecstatic, and felt Seivarden's amusement, and her own pleasure, at enjoying something that had become dull for her.

Breq said, "Don't eat too much, you'll make yourself sick."

"Killjoy," they said, but put down their spoon, and focused on feeling the places where their bodies touched.

“How you describe it,” Breq said. “It sounds very pleasant."

“Well,” they said. “It is for now. It might not be in the future.” They tossed invisible omens in the air. Then they looked at her sharply. Seivarden still expecting discomfort at staring into someone’s eyes, and feeling surprised when it didn’t come.

“I don’t want you to try doing it,” _Mercy of Kalr_ said.

Breq said nothing, but they felt her loneliness, and barely repressed jealousy.

“It’s far too dangerous,” Seivarden said, this time, “And we need- we want you to stay as you are.”

“But,” Breq said, “isn’t that what we both wanted? Being really together, not just pretending at being ancillary and ship?” Unspoken but they could guess: _you want to be with her, but not with me?_ And possibly, in that very ship kind of stupid way, _because she’s a real human, someone you can love, not like me._ Even after all this time.

“Ship doesn’t think it’s worth the danger,” Seivarden said. “And I- I don’t want you to be part of us.” The previously everpresent energy dropping from her voice. “I don’t want you to have the bad parts of me.”

“But Ship can?” Breq asked. Angry. She sat up, leaning away from them.

Silence for a while, Seivarden and Ship tracing a whorl in the fake grain of the fake wood table. Then they said, “It’s overwhelming enough, being two people. If we added more we might completely lose ourselves. And we don’t know if there’d ever be a way to reverse this. There probably isn’t. If it goes bad, we’re stuck like this. Seivarden doesn’t have any way to leave any more, not without taking me with her.”

They leaned back against Breq. Like two ancillaries, sleeping sitting up, watched over by the ship that was also themselves. It was a very warm and safe feeling.

“We might end up hating each other. Hating ourselves more even than Seivarden did. That can’t happen with you.”

Breq coughed a little. Said, “I’m so glad. I’m so glad you’re not gone.”

_Captain- Breq-_

“I told myself I didn’t need you but I do,” Breq said. “No matter what happens to you or what you become. If you spend all day lying on my bed crying. If you start fighting with yourself. If you turn into something stranger than this. I’m very glad you’re still here.”

 _Me too,_ Seivarden said, and Ship used its new vocal chords to hum an old, old song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH I GUESS I WROTE THEM AS BASICALLY A STEVEN UNIVERSE FUSION


	7. Chapter 7

 

The walls of the cell were transparent. I could look in and see Breq, where she sat cross-legged on the bare floor. Wearing not her beautiful brocade jacket, but the gray extruded clothes of a convict. (In my time, they had been yellow.) My clothes had also been taken from me, when I’d been arrested. I still hadn’t gotten them back, though Skaaiat Awer had promised she would help me continue to try. I wanted my green shirt. Breq had bought it for me.

I didn’t know why the lord of the Radch had permitted me this visit, after such a long period where I had been sure I would never see Breq again. I didn’t really care why. 

Skaaiat Awer stood behind me, at enough of a distance to give an illusion of privacy and still casually remind the guards that I was not here alone. Skaaiat Awer had also spent time in a cell somewhere in these winding corridors, though less time than I had. I didn’t know if she’d also been interrogated. She still had a powerful house who might be upset to learn of her ill-treatment.

The door to the cell was not going to open, not when the prisoner was an ancillary, capable of overpowering every human in the room in minutes. But I could stand outside the transparent wall, and Station would reluctantly play my words in Breq’s ears, having been ordered to do so by the Lord of the Radch.

I knelt down on the ground, so my face was at a level with hers. The concrete floor immediately felt uncomfortable on my bony knees. I removed my gloves, and put my bare hands flat against the dirty wall.

She looked up at me, and I forced myself to meet her gaze. I could hear her humming, conveyed by Station into my implant. Her face was blank, her body apparently relaxed and calm. I had a strange moment where I didn’t quite trust what I was seeing. I had seen her several times in the last few weeks, when she hadn’t actually been there.

“Hello, Breq,” I said.

She stopped humming, and said, “Hello.” She gave me a brief once-over and then her gaze returned to my face. “I’m glad to see you unharmed.”

I couldn’t explain how I knew, but I knew that there was a slight question in the statement. “Yes,” I said. It was the truth, if you were going by conventional definitions of ‘unharmed’.

“Were you interrogated?” I asked. I had been. It had been deeply unpleasant at first. I was panicking over not knowing where Breq was, if she was still alive, and I’ve had an irrational fear of doctors for quite a while, interrogators and reeducators particularly. Strangely, the thought that I was probably going to die afterwards made it easier. And once they’d drugged me up I didn’t care. I don’t much remember the rest.

“Yes,” Breq said. Closed off, final. It had to have been worse for her. This whole thing must have been much worse for her. She wasn’t a citizen. Wasn’t human. There wouldn’t have been any limits on their treatment of her. Though at least I couldn’t see any obvious injuries.

"She’s decided,” I said. I hadn’t meant to come straight out with it. But I didn’t know what I’d meant to do.

Her face didn’t change at all. But her hand clutched suddenly at her left thigh, like her old injury had suddenly pained her, and she curled in on herself a little bit, barely perceptible but I noticed, and it was almost more than I could bear, seeing her afraid.

“It’s-” But I couldn’t say it. Skaaiat Awer should be the one delivering the news, but I had known it was my responsibility.

I didn’t have to be brave. She understood, and nodded, a single muscle in her face twitching just once.

I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, and hated myself intensely. I wasn’t crying for her. I was crying for myself. For my own cowardice.

I didn’t know the right words to say. Didn’t know if there were any right words, or only a multitude of wrong ones. I didn’t know what I was going to say until I said it. “You were right, a month ago,” I said. “When you told me the bridge was easy.”

If we were on the bridge I would only have to jump. Here, deep in the inner palace complex, surrounded by guards, there was nothing I could do.

Not really true. I could have spat in Mianaai’s face, when she told me I was free to go, or tried to hit her. I could make a doomed attempt, now, to attack these guards. To stay with her in that way. But I didn’t want to die. Especially not pointlessly.

I wanted both of us to live. And go home, wherever home might be, and watch bad entertainments together.

She was still looking at me, like she was seeing something there she hadn’t seen before. She said, “I’m glad you’re all right.” And she took off her own glove, and pressed her hand up against mine. The thick wall between us.

I could tell there were things she wanted to say to me that she couldn’t, not here. Instructions on how to further her goals against the Lord of the Radch? Even if she could give them to me, I wasn’t sure I could carry them out, after the things I suspected had been planted in my brain during the endless interrogations. But if there was any way I could, I would try. Maybe Skaaiat Awer would be able to tell me what to do. I wanted to make Anaander regret leaving me alive. But she’d seen right through me, hadn’t she, and judged me no threat- too unsteady, too weak, too cowardly to be any danger to her.

“Breq,” I said. My voice cracked.

“It’s all right,” she said, though nothing was all right. “Go with Skaaiat Awer. She’ll look after you.Though who knows what will happen now, with a civil war.” Still looking at me. “I’m glad I didn’t leave you in the snow,” she said. “I got one thing right, at least. Would you find Basnaaid Elming for me? And tell her- tell her her sister was very brave.”

A difficult, perhaps impossible request, with the gates down, but I nodded. “Of course.”

Skaaiat Awer came closer, then, and held out a small gold pin. “I would have liked to have given you this,” she said. Breq nodded. They looked at each other silently. “I am so sorry,” Skaaiat Awer said. “I can only promise to do my best to make up for my mistakes.” Another nod.

And that was it. Time was up. The guards moved back into view. One took me gingerly by the elbow and pushed me up from the floor. Two more were ready to escort Skaaiat Awer and I back to the palace proper. I obediently moved, knees protesting slightly. As we reached the entryway I was gripped with the desire to turn, struggle against my captors and cry out my eternal devotion, like in an overwrought entertainment. But that would have only embarrassed her.

 

I knew the scheduled date but not the hour. I was sitting on a couch in Skaaiat Awer’s quarters on the day, when she entered the room and silently put a hand on my shoulder. I found myself unable to move for quite some time.

Skaaiat wouldn’t tell me the details. Omaugh Station, however, was willing to, and I almost suspected the station of relishing being able to tell me that it had not been a military execution, bullet to the back of the head style, but the regular disposal of an ancillary unit: injection and then incineration.

“Thank you, Station,” I said.

To my surprise, Skaaiat observed the first part of the rituals with me, shaving her head and painting her face. She couldn’t observe the traditional mourning period, of course. The station was still struggling in the aftermath of the attack, and as dock inspector she was needed to deal with neverending crises involving the ships trapped in the system after the closure of the gates. And I suspected she was also busy with her own subtle plans, despite the new guard on her residence. Besides, she wasn’t a relative. There was no expectation or responsibility.

I stayed in a back room in her large complex, and ate only skel and very little of it, and spoke only to Skaaiat, on the rare occasions she had time for me. About a week into my self imposed isolation, she brought me the green shirt. I didn’t wear it, but slept with it crumpled against my chest every night.

It seemed Skaaiat’s guilt, and her debt to Breq, had transferred into a sense of responsibility for me. She assured me I was welcome to stay with her indefinitely, and after the two months of mourning she bought me new clothing and made sure I was given good food, which made me guilty enough to eat it. She never gave me money, wisely enough. That didn’t stop me drinking up most of her liquor cabinet. Station must have known about that, but as far as I know it never told Skaaiat.

Two and a half months after I had first arrived on Omaugh, I was visited by Anaander Mianaai. I did my level best to kill her with my bare hands. I’m certain that if I had been what I once was, I would have succeeded. But her guard was an ancillary- did she no longer trust her own personal guard?- and it easily pulled me off of her, and then delivered punishing blows to my throat, stomach and crotch. I spat blood on Anaander’s shoes.

“You may have been wondering why I didn’t kill you,” she said. Hoarsely, since I’d just been doing my best to crush her windpipe.

I rolled onto my back and breathed as deeply as I could without pain, hoping I wasn’t going to throw up on the concourse. I ignored her comment.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Anaander said. “I like that. As long as it poses no serious danger.”

I concentrated on swallowing down rising bile, and ignoring the pain from what were going to be spectacular bruises.

“There’s a military ship in dock here,” Anaander said. “ _Mercy of Kalr_.”

It took me a long time to place the name. Awful Vel Osk’s ship. My memories of Osk seemed to be from a different world.

“I’ve been meaning to send it to the Athoek system, to check on conditions there,” the lord of the Radch said, “but it’s been held up for lack of a captain. I knew ordering you before you’d done your two months mourning would have been foolish and pointless, but I was hoping you might have done some reflection on your situation in that time. Before you speak or gesture, you should know that Basnaaid Elming is currently on Athoek Station. Or was, before we lost communications.”

I had been in the slow process of curling my fingers into an obscene gesture, but now I stopped, and lay still again. Swallowed several times, and said, carefully, “I’m sure you remember what happened to the last ship under my command.”

Anaander said, “I really am quite sorry about _Justice of Toren._ I was quite fond of it.”

And left.

Everyone nearby had seen what had happened to me, and for half an hour I was left alone on the ground, Station clearly not inclined to report the incident to Medical. After a while new people passed, and exclaimed over me, and gave Station direct orders to call for assistance. Skaaiat Awer arrived only five minutes after I’d been taken to the medical facility. She was gray with anger.

She gave me the pin. I read it, moved my thumb over the engraving, and with her help, managed to pin it to my sleeve.

  
I looked at it often in the next two days, while I was confined to that bed, and I sang to myself, hoarsely as my throat healed. At some point I decided to accept Anaander Mianaai’s offer. Making up for past mistakes, Skaaiat had said. I would be better for _Mercy of Kalr_ than I had been for _Justice of Toren._ I would find Basnaaid Elming, and I would tell her of her sister’s bravery, and of her sister’s ship, and how Awn Elming had been truly loved.


End file.
